


Fangs

by sgtsebstan



Category: Dracula Untold (2014), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Crossover, Dracula Untold AU, Dracula!Bard, F/M, M/M, Mentioned Kíli/Tauriel, The Hobbit AU, Vampire!Bard, the hobbit/dracula untold crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:38:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtsebstan/pseuds/sgtsebstan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard knew the only way to face the impending army of evil was with evil itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First story on AO3! Super excited to be here and amongst my fellow Barduilians.

The threat of war loomed over the refugees of Laketown as they bunkered down for the night, throwing up boards haphazardly over broken windows to at least block some of the chilled air rolling off the mountain in a wind that went right through you. The able-bodied Men had already gathered all of the weaponry they could find in the ruins of Dale's armory and were bundled up with their loved ones, the promise of battle on the morrow causing the men to hold on tighter for fear it could be their last embrace.  
  
Meanwhile, their intended King was in company with the King of the Woodland Realm in the latter's tent, which mercifully retained heat.  
  
“If what the wizard says is true, we could possibly be facing a legion of Orcs as well as the Dwarves,” Bard finally spoke of what was weighing on his mind. He cautiously looked over to where Lord Thranduil was languidly sitting on his lavish travel chair, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other rolling the Arkenstone over and over.  
  
The King hadn't even flinched at the sudden interruption of the comfortable silence the two had settled into after Gandalf the Grey had departed, mumbling something about the greed of Kings. Now, he didn't even look up to meet Bard's eyes as he replied, “I am aware of the potential threat we face. I have known about those vile creatures interest in the band of Dwarves sitting in that mountain for quite some time now.”  
  
This stunned Bard into silence a moment before standing, anger shaking his voice. “And yet you've done nothing to warn them? Or even my people? Are you so ready to lay down the lives of hundreds for a few precious gems?”  
  
“Thousands,” Thranduil corrected, his hand stopping its rotation of the stone. “And no, I was not going to endanger the lives of my people. Nor yours,” his icy blue orbs meeting Bard's brown ones. “I never intended to stay long enough to see the destruction of Erebor by the hands of the Orc, only to retrieve what is mine and return to my kingdom.”  
  
“But do you not see?” Bard shook his head, urging the Elvenking to understand. “If the Orc army comes, Dale will also face the wrath of their numbers. They will lay waste to my people. They may even turn to your forest when they are done with us. You cannot ignore the world around you for long, Lord Thranduil, before it finds you. By then, it will be too late.”  
  
Suddenly Thranduil was standing, looming over the Dragonslayer with the inches in difference of height between the two. “You know nothing of the sacrifice of an Elven life, how wasteful it is for us to foolishly run into battle to save a few meaningless lives of mortals.”  
  
“You think so little of us because we do not live thousands of years,” Bard spat, nose-to-nose with the King. “But we have every right to live a full life as you a right to live an eternity.”  
  
Something sparked behind Thranduil's otherworldly eyes, and his next words lacked any of the cold steel they held before, “As you may, but I cannot sacrifice my people for you. I cannot deny them their right to live out their days as they choose.”  
  
“Then let them choose,” the Dragonslayer returned with just as much warmth.  
  
Their breaths mixed at their proximity, staring deeply into the others eyes. In the next moment, their mouths met with a fiery passion neither had been expecting, but gladly welcomed. They took their frustrations out on each other, nipping and scratching the other as their bodies became one.  
  
–  
  
Hours later, Bard quietly pulled away from his Elven lover reluctantly, but with a purpose that had settled deep within him.  
  
“ _Muin nín_?” Thranduil's softly questioned, his hand reaching out for him. Though Bard knew nothing of Elven tongue, he looked back at Thranduil with a soft smile at what he assumed was an endearment. “Where are you going?”  
  
Bard threw the tunic Thranduil had gifted him over his head, claiming a King could not wear the rags the Bowman wore. “I am going to find a way to win this war.”  
  
At this, Thranduil sat up straight in bed, furs pooling low around his hips and his silver hair falling over his bare shoulders, not a strand out of place. “Were you not saying that it would not come to battle just hours ago?”  
  
“That was until I heard of the Orcs,” Bard leaned over to pull up his boots. It was a few moments before Thranduil finally replied, Bard already halfway out of the tent, but his words brought him pause.  
  
“What could possibly help us defeat this evil?”  
  
Bard did not look back as he stepped out, the question left unanswered, but hung heavy in his heart.  
  
By fighting evil with evil.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard meets the creature that just may save his people and his family.

Bard had heard of a creature that lurked on the side of the Lonely Mountain. No, not the dragon Smaug that resided within, but a creature that had been there long before the beast had taken the mountain as residency. Tales of a different evil concealed in the shadows of the mountain were not as common or as grand as stories of the dragon, but came with a warning of the dark for children who were curious of the night. If stories of a dragon could be true, or an ethereal Elvenking from the woodlands, then surely there was some truth of a beast who hid in the mountains with great power.

There were only a few hours before dawn would break, and the promise of battle with it, so Bard made haste to the corner of the mountain where the creature was said to reside. His torch providing only a shaft of light, enough to get him there safely, but became more a symbol of comfort as he descended into the opening of a cavern.

Only the sound of water dripping from the rock ceiling met him as he moved along. The Dragonslayer was only a few steps into the cave when a flurry of bats flew past him and out into the night sky. This had to be the cave, Bard decided, giving his heartbeat a moment to return to its normal rate from the sudden scare before continuing on into the cave.

It was quite some time before he found what he had come looking for.

Bard knew he had found the creature when his torch went out, a gust of wind snuffing the flame in seconds. He notched his bow with an arrow from the quiver strung across his back and rounded on the area the wind came from. There was movement behind him and he swung around to aim there.

“It has been so long since a Man has ventured to this side of the mountain.”

The voice, coming from his left, startled him back where something much like bone crunched beneath his feet. A face flashed in front of him when he spun around again at another sign of movement and he took a step back. The face was a sickly grey, eyes rimmed red, pupils slits and his mouth appeared to be blood-stained. A black robe adorned, from what Bard could tell, a body in some state of decomposing. The creature's hand came up, long nails tapping on the arrow still notched in the bow pointing at him until he shoved it aside, the bow falling from Bard's grip.

Taking a step forward, far too close for Bard's comfort, the creature sniffed at his neck several times before pulling away with a curious click of his tongue. “Men who enter this cave wreak of fear, however I smell only hope. What kind of man crawls into his own grave in search of hope?”

Swallowing down the instinct to run, to get far away from this creature of death, Bard stood straight, head held high. “A desperate one. An army of Orcs threaten my people. We will be slaughtered come sunrise if something is not done to stop it.”

“And how, pray tell, do you think I could aid you in this task?” The creature was circling Bard, studying him.

“A power like yours,” Bard pause, meeting the eye of the ancient creature, “I could stop it.”

“What of my power do you know?”

“Not much, I'm afraid. I only know of what I was told as a child. That a creature of the night lurked on the side of the mountain, that he would eat any who dared enter his home. It was mostly a tale to make us fear the night, not that we didn't already have enough to worry about with the dragon.”

The creature's head tilted to the side. “And now the beast is dead.”

“Aye,” Bard nodded in confirmation. “It was I who slayed Smaug.”

An idea seemed to blossom in the mind of the creature, for a sly smile slowly crept over his face. “Did you, now? Hmm, very interesting, indeed.” The man paced again around Bard.

“Please,” the Bowman urged, “help me save my family.”

“How supremely noble,” the creature snapped, “Dragonslayer.” Bard's eyes hardened. “Tell me, how many people have burned because of your greed?” At the man's confused expression, the creature explained, “When you smuggled in the troop of Dwarves in exchange for money, and ultimately led to the awakening of Smaug the Terrible and the destruction of Laketown.”

Bard opened his mouth to protest, “I had no-”

“Of course you didn't, but your greed has led us to this point.”

“How did you even know?” Bard questioned.

The creature let out something akin to a snort. “I have eyes and ears keeping watch over these lands.” At this, a bat flew overhead and settled on a nearby ledge. Bard nodded in understanding, turning back to the creature. “Are you so ready to unleash another beast upon your people?”

“No, that is why I am here to prevent it from happening.”

“So you wish to fight one monster with another?”

Bard's features settled into a grim, resolved expression.“If that is what it will take.”

“Then you must become one yourself.” With that, the creature grabbed Bard by the throat and slammed him against a wall of the cave. Bard didn't struggle, knew it would be no use against a creature such as this. The man's thumbnail dug into his neck, slicing the skin cleanly so that blood flowed to the top, spilling over. A curse spilled from the Bowman's lips as the creature opened its monstrous mouth wide, displaying a set of very sharpened teeth, and uncurled an unnaturally long tongue. The tongue stretched out to taste the blood on his throat before retreating back to the creature's mouth. “You have no idea what is in store.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing is really rusty, and I am soo not familiar with writing in Tolkien's Middle Earth, but I welcome feedback to help me along this path. I'm shooting for 10 or so chapters, so stick around :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard makes a deal with the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not even going to lie, totally stole lines from Dracula Untold. But how could I not? The dialogue in that scene was ON POINT.

“Since the First Age, I have been cursed to dwell in these mouldering walls, to remain in the shadows of this mountain for eternity...” Here, the creature paused his slow pacing of the space they occupied to meet the Bowman's eyes. “Or until one worthy of the dark and all its powers should appear.”

“How came you by this?” Bard inquired, voice rough from the monster's previous choke hold.

The creature resumed his pacing around Bard. “Condemned by the one who turned me. He promised power unlike any the world had seen before, but this power came with a grave price and it was here that I was left to rot. Until now, that is.”

A chill ran down Bard's spine with how the creature gazed at him with so much intensity in those hollow eyes. The goodness in the former Bargeman's heart willed him to run, to leave this accursed walls, return to Dale and face the coming apocalypse side-by-side with Lord Thranduil. At the thought of the Elven King, Bard had to suppress a shudder. As if he had not already tormented over what the exquisite Elf had seen in a lowly Man as himself, what would the King think of him after what he was sure would leave him a monster? What would his children think? With the thought of his family, Bard only found further resolve in what he was doing. This was necessary for not only the good of the remaining people of Laketown, but for his children. Sigrid, Bain and Tilda were the only reason he continued on most days, and what were certainly the reason for his actions now.

Moving to a small outcropping in the wall, the creature picked up what appeared to be the skull of a Man and then smashed it onto the rock. “For if I am to be your salvation,” the creature looked as if he knew something Bard did not, which Bard reasoned was certainly the case, “you will be mine.” With this, the creature pulled back the robe covering his wrist and bit into the fragile skin there, biting deep enough to draw thick, dark blood from his veins, which he poured over a piece of the fractured skull.

Bard felt the corners of his mouth draw back in distaste when the creature started for the Dragonslayer. “Drink. You will have the taste of my power, the strength of a hundred men, the speed of a falling star, dominion over the night and all its creatures,” the creature came around to the side of Bard, speaking directly into his ear, “to see and hear through their senses.” He paused, allowing Bard a moment for his meaning to sink in.

“At what price?” Was all Bard could find to say.

Coming to face the intended King of Dale, the creature's face slid into that of an apathetic countenance. “Once you drink, your thirst for blood will be insatiable,” the creature started to walk away from him, “but if you can resist for three days, you will return to your mortal state having sampled my power and perhaps saved your people.”

Bard followed close behind him, “And if I feed?”

Looking over his shoulder, but not meeting the Man's eyes, the creature replied with solemnity, “Then the price will be worse than if you had never stepped in here, for I will be set free having granted the darkness and worthy offering. You will become its vessel, as I am. A scourge on this earth, destined to destroy everything you hold dear: your lands, your people,” here he tilted his head to the side with an almost sarcastic tone, “even your precious children.”

Anger ignited in Bard's bones, “I would die before I ever harmed them.”

“Indeed you will, I'm afraid,” the creature intoned. Bard's eyes cast down as he continued, the reality of just what he was doing settling in. “I, however, will at last be set free to unleash my wrath against the one who betrayed me. And one day I will call on you to serve me, my pawn, in an immortal game of revenge.”

“This is not a game!” Bard shouted, stopping just short of lunging at the creature.

The monster sighed, “Ah, but what better way to endure eternity?” Without Bard having realizing it, the creature had led them to stand on either side of where the bowl made of bone sat, holding the monster's blood. One of the creature's sickly hands raised the bowl up to Bard, “For this, little King, is the ultimate game. Light versus Dark. Hope versus Despair. And all the world's fate hangs in the balance.”

Somehow, Bard found the courage to smirk at the monster, “Then it will be my great pleasure to disappoint you.”

Meeting Bard's smirk with one of his own, the creature handed the Bowman the bowl. “Drink.”

Bard took the bowl, holding it in both hands and staring down at it with his thoughts swimming in his head. His family, his people, the Dwarves, the Elves, even Thranduil, flashed through his mind. He must do this for the sake of all. To fight a monster, he must become one.

“Let the games begin,” the creature said with a smug look, as if he had already won.

Gritting his teeth to refrain from snarling at the monster, Bard brought the bowl to his lips, drinking back the others blood. With a groan, the future King of Dale tossed the skull aside, not a drop left. He looked up at the creature in extreme pain, “What now?”

The monster turned away, his shoulders not as tense as they had been before. “Now, you die.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good, now that that's out of the way we can get back to BOTFA and some full-on vampire!Bard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elves of Mirkwood and the people of Dale awake to a missing king and a foreboding morning sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it's been a few days. Classes got the better of me. Spent all night learning Sindarin grammar. It's now 4 am and I need some sleep. I do this to myself...

Dawn broke that morning, the light peaking over the mountaintop shining down on a legion of Elves. Their golden armor reflecting the sunlight caught many eyes of the Men residing within Dale, but their interest in their allies was quickly drowned out as rumor spread through the ruined city that their Dragonslayer was nowhere to be found. Bard's own daughter, Sigrid, was the one to raise the alarm having not found him when she and her siblings had awakened that morning. 

She made work of finding the Elvenking, knowing her father had stayed late with the Elf as they discussed battle strategies and the like. Coming upon the King's giant tent in the courtyard, Sigrid requested the guards at the opening an audience with their Lord Thranduil. The two shared a look before one disappeared behind the flap. Sigrid wrung her hands on the front of her skirt, focusing on working out her worry on the fabric instead of losing whatever sense of calm she had left. The guard returned a moment later, Sigrid releasing the breath she had not known she had been holding, and he motioned her inside. 

The inside of the dwelling was barren of anything but an elaborate traveling throne, a chair and a table that held two goblets and a bottle of wine. A piece of fabric sectioned off what could only be the King's personal quarters. 

The Elf in question was currently standing still as a statue at the table, back turned to Sigrid and a hand placed on the table. Upon further inspection of him, Bard's eldest took note of the way the King's nails were digging crescents into the wood. 

“May I help you, Sigrid, daughter of Bard?” Came the cool tone of Lord Thranduil. “For if you are here to inquire of your father, I am afraid he is not here. He left some time in the night.”

His words caught Sigrid slightly offguard, but she attributed that to the Elvenking's infinite wisdom. “Yes, Lord Thranduil, I've come to see of my father. Do you know where he may have gone off to?” The young woman's voice only shook over the first words, becoming steadier as she continued on. If their meeting was under different circumstance, she probably would have smiled in pride as the ancient being in front of her was quite intimidating in person.

Lord Thranduil made his way around the table to face her, his face resigned in what she figured was his usual expression of frigid indifference. “Your f-” his words were cut off by loud exclamations outside and one of his guards appearing with a worried look. 

“My Lord, you may want to come see this.”

“What is it, Baledhel?” Lord Thranduil questioned, already moving towards the tent flap with the guard, Baledhel, right behind him. 

The sky came into view as Lord Thranduil moved the cloth away, revealing an overcast day when there had been sunshine moments ago. Thunderous clouds were rapidly darkening the sky. “A bad sign, my Lord?” Baledhel inquired. 

The Elvenking's eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at the sky, his eyes pinpointing on an area and not moving. Sigrid followed his gaze to find the source of the storm, where a swarm of something black was circling. How strange, she thought, that the storm would be coming from the far side of the mountain. “ _Alfirin raug caitiel ned dartha. Húna an thaw an uir an pen valda o More ettul_.”

Lord Thranduil didn't wait for a response from his guard before taking off. Pausing a moment to get one last look at the approaching storm and its origin, Sigrid felt a chill run down her spine before she gathered up her skirts and hurried after the King of the Woodland Realm. “My Lord,” she called, trying to keep up with the Elvenking's long gait. Sigrid figured he was ignoring her because he had to have heard her at this distance. She sighed, but continued to follow him as he made his way through the ruins of Dale to whatever destination he had in mine. Shortly after having somewhat catching up with the King, Lord Thranduil seemed to have found what he was looking for the in the form of a tall, graying man whom Sigrid assumed was the great Gandalf the Grey.

“My Lord,” Gandalf greeted and was turning towards Sigrid when Lord Thranduil interrupted their introduction. 

“ _Mithrandir_ , do you know of anything that lurks on the other side of that mountain?” Bard's daughter thought that if it was possible, Lord Thranduil would be boring holes into Gandalf's eyes with how intense his gaze was on the Wizard.

His words gave Gandalf pause, his brow furrowing with thought before understanding bloomed across his features and his shoulders sagged with defeat. “You mean to say...”

“I do.”

“I thought it was bound to that land for eternity.”

“It was.”

Sigrid was completely lost at this point, and the Elvenking's curt responses sent her blood running cold. They had to be talking of her father, and if the mountain was in question, there was only one thing other than the dragon that they could be referencing. And the dragon was dead; her father had slayed it. She felt the hairs on her arms raise with that thought. “Please,” she gasped.

Gandalf turned to look at her, his eyes filling with pity. Lord Thranduil seemed to be frozen still, not even glancing at her. “Please,” Sigrid begged again, surprising not only herself, but the King as well, by grabbing his hand. Something crept into his eyes as he looked down at Bard's eldest, thought the girl couldn't name it, only that it was at least an emotion of some kind. “What's happened with my Da?”

Before Lord Thranduil could even utter a word, lightning lit up the sky, its thunderous claps causing Sigrid to jump and her hand to tighten on the Elvenking's. He didn't shove her off, but gently pulled to have her standing closer to him and she found comfort in the proximity. “My Lady,” his voice was barely more than a whisper, “I fear your father has awakened a beast that has resided in that mountain far longer than the dragon Smaug, or even the Dwarves themselves, in order to protect his people," Lord Thranduil squeezed her hand gently, “his family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Alfirin raug caitiel ned dartha. Húna an thaw an uir an pen valda o More ettul_ \- An immortal creature lies in wait. Cursed to rot for eternity until one worthy of the Darkness comes forth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard becomes familiar with his new power.

When morning had come upon Bard, lying as still as if he were dead on some rocks at the base of the mountain, he had howled in pain; the sun burning his flesh. He quickly made for the shadow of the mountain. The Dragonslayer flung himself behind an outcropping of rocks to block the sun, crushing the stones beneath him with the force like they were made of clay. One of the shards of rock sliced his hand open and he cursed, bringing his palm up to inspect the damage. Right before his eyes, the wound healed itself.

“That's useful,” he murmured. As he stood back up, Bard began to notice just how piercing the sounds of a world awakening were. He could hear the animals in the forest stirring from their rest, birds chirping in the trees above, and even from this distance, he could hear not only the army of Elves and Men assembling, but the Dwarves readying their fortress, another army of Dwarves marching from the East, and the forces of evil making their way through the lower mountains to the South. He could feel their stomping through the earth itself, the vibrations so strong he could feel them in his bones. The tremors moving just ahead of the Orc pack, seemingly making them a path, had to be caused by ancient beasts: the Wereworms. Bard had only heard of the Wereworms in legend, thought they were just a myth. Seems like all of the myths were coming true as of late. And behind him, he could sense another force moving. Bard was unfamiliar with the species, but the way they crawled over the earth warned of nothing good. They would hit Ravenhill by midday.

All of these armies would meet, and it would be soon. Bard had little time to get back. He moved to leave the outcrop, but had no sooner stepped out into the sun that he dashed back into shadow; a hiss escaping his clenched teeth as his exposed skin smoked, already healing the blisters that had appeared. Cursing his foolishness, he had no idea how to make it back to camp without facing the harsh sunlight.

 The creature had talked of being worthy of the darkness, but how could he wield this power directly under the sun? There wasn't a cloud to be found in the sky. Clouds. That's it, Bard thought, lifting a hand. Perhaps...

A laugh startled Bard as it bubbled out of his chest, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care too much, for above him the sky darkened with an approaching storm. “Now that's very useful.”

Looking around the base of the Misty Mountains, Bard pondered on what other powers he now possessed. He pressed a hand against the side of the mountain, closed his eyes and pushed with his mind through the stone, sending out an echo of sorts through the mountain. The feedback he received from the call was instantaneous; a flock of bats erupted from various cave openings along the mountain range. They descended upon him, swarming above the Bowman's head as if they were waiting for his signal. He raised a shaky hand and circled it in a singular motion; the bats followed immediately. For several minutes, Bard tested his control over the animals, twisting his arm this way and that, clenching his fist and the cluster seizing into that shape.

Satisfied with this new development, Bard turned towards what would soon be a battlefield, time to test his speed. With a deep, and what felt almost unnecessary, breath, the Dragonslayer-turned-Vampire took off, his form coming undone and transforming into a new form: at least two dozen bats that flew in a tight bunch right for the oncoming battle.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realllllyy short chapter - apologies. It was hell to write, but necessary. Next chapter:  
> 'TO BATTLE, TO BATTLE!'  
> ok am I the only one who totally loves that scene and Dain being a little shit then going 'oh shit son, actual evil is descending upon us, TIME TO GO TO WORK, DWARVES!'


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TO BATTLE! TO BATTLE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO Sorry for the lateness, guys. I totally spilled water all over my laptop the other day.. (might have had a little too much vodka, oops..) Now my mousepad doesn't work, but hey! At least I have a touchscreen and overall it's usable! Yay!

Despite having lived for as long as he had, Thranduil felt worry seep deep into the marrow of his body as he mounted his elk. Bard still had not returned from the Misty Mountains. Something twisted in the pit of the Elvenking's stomach, and he did not enjoy the sense of foreboding the sky cast over his marching army. His mind did nothing to assuage his troubling thoughts. If anything, they merely reminded him that he was being absolutely foolish for caring so deeply for a mortal. Try as he might, Thranduil was finding it quite difficult to quell the almost overwhelming feelings he had for the Dragonslayer. How had this Man come to invade his ever waking thought in just a matter of days? The Elvenking hadn't felt this way in a millennium – not since his wife had passed. Whatever had passed between the two the night prior would not happen again, the King resolved; he would not allow himself to give in to that hunger again.

Without their leader, the refugees of Laketown were restless. They did not know if they should follow the King of the Woodland Realm into battle, or if they should at least wait for their true King to arrive. Thranduil was not one for indecision, and so he rounded on the Men merely standing around.

“Men of Dale, I assure you your leader is well and will meet us on the battlefield soon. For now, I need you to gather your wits about you and to follow me. We cannot hope to reclaim what is rightfully ours if we do not stand together.” With this, the elk snuffled and Thranduil pulled on the reins to turn them towards the remnants of Erebor. “Onwards!”

As he moved through his army of Elves, the Elvenking felt like the space beside him should be filled. Instead, the void was reaching out with grasping claws, tugging at his heart. Shaking his head minutely to shake the feeling off, the King sat even straighter on his steed, looking on to the now filled entrance of Erebor. His Elves moved with fluidity to make way for their King as he passed, only coming to a stop when an arrow glanced off the stone mere inches from his elk's hooves.

His eyes shot upwards to where Thorin Oakenshield stood with a bow pointed at his face. “I will put the next one between your eyes.” The Dwarves cheered, shouting slurs down at he and his Elves.

If Thorin thought he would get a rise out of the King of the Woodland Realm with threats of an arrow, he was sorely mistaken. And yet, with his smirk turning down into a glare, his head tilting just so, he heard the movement of a thousand Elves notching their bows with sharp arrows aimed directly for the Dwarves lining their makeshift barrier. Instantly, all the Dwarves but Thorin ducked behind the rock in fear.

He raised a hand and his army stood down. The legion of Woodland Elves behind him were so in sync with their King, he had but only give the slightest of gestures, and they would act without question. That is real power.

“We've come to tell you: payment of your debt has been offered,” Thranduil barely repressed the urge to smirk at the son of Thrain, “and accepted.” His words cut like knives.

“What payment? I gave you nothing.” Thorin ground out, “You have nothing!”

Again, that impression of wrongness came over the Elvenking, but he trudged on. The Bowman here or not. This time, the smirk came easy. “We have this,” he called, pulling the Heart of the Mountain from his belt and holding it up for the Dwarves above to see.

After a moment of letting it sink in just what was in Thranduil's hand, the Dwarves began hurling insults and accusations down at the Elvenking. Of course, the King preened under ridicule.

“And the King may have it,” Thranduil conceded, when one of the Dwarves claimed it belonged only to the King Under the Mountain. The Elvenking placed the stone back into his belt and grabbed his reigns once more. “In our good will, of course. He must only honor his word.” The words ground through Thranduil's teeth.

The Elvenking had seen the effects of Dragon Sickness in Thorin's predecessor, and he could see the illness' hold on the new King Under the Mountain now as he talked of it all being a ruse and that the Arkenstone still lay somewhere in the Dragon's hoard. Thranduil was beginning to think that this just might end in blood when he heard a small, shaky voice disrupt Thorin's tirade.

“It-it's no trick. The stone is real. I gave it to them.”

Despite the halfling's past transgressions against the Elvenking, Thranduil could not deny the twinge of worry he felt upon seeing Bilbo Baggins atop the blockade the Dwarves had constructed, facing down the Mad King Thorin. He wanted to call out to the Hobbit, order him down at once, or to even scale the rock to retrieve the young one himself and bring him back down to safety. All things aside, the halfling had wormed his way into the Elvenking's frosty heart – that seemed to be happening more and more as of late. Perhaps it was time the distant King of the Woodland Realm began letting others back in. Valar knows his relationship with his son had been strained enough ever since he shut everyone out.

Gandalf's intervention – however infuriating – was very necessary as Thorin had just grabbed for the Hobbit and was threatening to throw him over the rock wall. Some friend he is, Thranduil thought ruefully. Bilbo quickly descended over the side of the blockade while Gandalf distracted Thorin and joined the Wizard where he stood next to the King astride his elk.

“So are we resolved, then? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?” Thranduil called, already knowing the answer. Dragon Sickness had already taken the son of Thrain and there was no point in trying to reason with such madness. “Give us your answer, Dwarf: will you have peace or war?”

The sight of one of Erebor's ravens filled Thranduil with dread as it came to perch near Thorin on a rock. Before the Dwarf King could even doom them all to battle, the Elvenking was looking to the direction in which the bird had come. He could faintly hear the thunderous footsteps of thousands of Dwarves marching upon them from the East. Once the legion had crested the hill, the King of the Woodland Realm took off; spouting off orders to his army to turn and face the bigger threat. His soldiers parted as he rode through them before falling back in line.

The amount of distaste Thranduil felt towards Dwarves could be perfectly summarized in the form of Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills. Everything that came out of his runty mouth made Thranduil's blood boil. He didn't even bother trying to mask his annoyance under any form of indifference. Honestly, the ignorance of this _gorn_ was remarkable; for someone to be so exasperatingly dense was noteworthy.

“I will not stand down before any Elf. Not at least this faithless woodland sprite,” Lord Dain gestured towards Thranduil with his battle hammer. “He wishes nothing but ill upon my people,” oh, he had no idea. “If he wishes to stand between me and my kin – I'll split his pretty head open. See if he's still smirking then.”

“He's clearly mad, like his cousin,” Thranduil bit around the astronomical smirk adorning his face.

“You hear that lads? Let's give these bastards a good hammering!” The Lord of the Iron Hills called his kind to battle while Thranduil's own prepared for the onslaught, sliding right into form without even a word from their King's lips.

Suddenly, tremors from the south shook the ground beneath them. Everyone on the battlefield immediately turned to locate where they were coming from.  _Wereworms_ , Thranduil realized with a shudder moments before the ancient beasts broke through the earth's crust.

“Oh come on,” Dain cried out. Thranduil, with much annoyance, thought that might be the only thing they would ever agree upon.

A horn blared from Ravenhill, and Azog the Defiler called for his Orc army to come forth. Soon, thousands of Orcs began pouring from the openings the Wereworms had made in the low, sprawling hills of the South.

“The horns of Hell are upon us! To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!” The Lord of the Iron Hills had apparently decided that the Elves could wait and led his army towards the oncoming legion of Orcs.

Thranduil stood still; the reality of war now pressing firmly down upon him from all sides. He knew all too well the loss of war – he's lost his entire family save his son to it. Long ago he had made the decision to isolate his kingdom to protect his immortal subjects from the fatal touch of mortality. No more would the Elves of Greenwood suffer the sacrifice of forever with their loved ones. As King, Thranduil had a duty to honor an Elf's right to eternity. He could not call on them to lay down their lives for a few precious gems, or even to come to the aide of Men and Dwarves.

And yet, his decision of isolation is what had ultimately led to the infestation in his Realm; what's turned Greenwood into Mirkwood. Thranduil had allowed the power of Dol Guldur to rise once more because he did not think it any of his concern as it lay outside his forest. Why should the outside world hold any matter to the King of the Woodland Realm? He had ascribed to the notion that if it was outside his borders, it was outside of his duty, and most importantly, his concern. His kind would live out their eternity in peace while the rest of Middle Earth fought their wars and struggled to find a moments rest amongst the ever changing power struggle. Be he was so wrong. He should have never given up their battle against the evil forces of Dol Guldur after he lost his wife – that should have just made his resolve all the more stronger to extinguish the roots of all foul things this side of Middle Earth. That was no way to honor his beloved. And perhaps the oncoming Orc army wouldn't be so threatening if he had extended his own forces before. Perhaps the Bargeman wouldn't have had to seek out extreme measures to vanquish this evil.

It was Gandalf's – and honestly, the Wizard would have been met with one of Thranduil's swords if they were under different circumstance by now – call for the King to act that made up his mind once and for all.

Just as the Orcs were to come into contact with the Dwarves, Elven soldiers jumped into the fray upon their King's command. The King himself led a portion of his army and the Men of Dale to defend the city as several War Beasts led a host of Orcs into the city. Thranduil had to lead two armies, so he made the decision to leave most of his own on the field, handing over command to Baledhel with a nod before taking off for Dale.

It was then that the sky turned black. “Bats!” one of the men cried, his voice trembling with fear.

“Those are not just any bats,” Thranduil murmured after studying the sky for a moment. He surprisingly felt comfort at the sight of the small creatures flying about. The bats descended upon the Orcs, tearing through them with viscous purpose.

Understanding Bard had somehow gained support from the creature that lurked in the crevices of the Misty Mountains, Thranduil could only pray to  _Ilúvatar_   that the Man was safe as he charged into a cluster of Orcs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh Bard finally came back. I have the next chapter written, just gotta type it up. Expect it Sunday, probably. I gots plans for the weekend - it's the weekend come on a weekend hell yeah i just got paid it's time to get this started wait till i stake my claim forget that i was ever your - HAHA i love that song so much. don't judge me plz


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard races into battle.

When Bard finally arrived back to the battlefield under the cloak of darkness he had somehow summoned, the battle was well underway. As he had predicted, the Orc army from the South had arrived and, from what he could tell, had followed in after the Wereworms had ripped openings in the Southern Hills for them to attack from. The Dragonslayer felt a little bit of pride fill his – though at the moment, dismembered – heart at seeing Woodland Elves amongst the fray.

  
He strongly wished to go hunt down the Elvenking to fight alongside him and ensure his safety, but the sight of War Beasts charging through the walls surrounding Dale seized him. He had to find his children and get the women and other children to safety far away from the battle taking place. Spotting a familiar face, Bard came to form in front of Percy, nearly giving the old man a heart attack. Not wasting time on apologies or pleasantries, Bard demanded the location of his children.

  
It took Percy a moment to collect himself, and seeming to swallow down a dozen questions surely on the verge of bursting forth, the old man raised a shaky hand, pointing towards the old market. “Last saw 'em there, m'Lord.”

  
The title threw Bard for a moment, but he nodded with a tight smile. “Thank you, Percy. And please,” Bard stepped closer to the man, voice hushed. “Do not question what I've done – just know that I did it to protect our people and that I will not allow this evil to finish us. We will endure, just as we always have.”

  
“Aye,” Percy agreed, respect clearly in his gaze. With another nod, Bard flew off again, taking down an Orc here or there that crossed his path as he made for the old market.

  
He finally found his children facing off against a War Beast. With a roar, Bard slayed the beast with a single slash to the throat. He quickly stood whole before them as the beast fell, and gathered the three to him. 

Tilda broke away from him, though, with a cry. “Da! What are you?”

Bard could not stand to see his youngest look at him with such fear in her eyes. A glance towards his two oldest told him Sigrid only looked at him in resigned understanding, Bain overwhelmingly confused, but accepting. His eyes resettled on Tilda, meeting her gaze and refusing to let go of this eye-contact until she realized he was still her Da.

“Darlin', I'm still me, your Da. You have nothing to fear, Tilda.” Bard flooded so much love and sensitivity into his words, urging his youngest to understand however much her innocent mind could. 

Finally, having decided on his character, his littlest stepped into his open arms and tightened her own around his neck. 

“I'm so sorry, Da,” she cried softly into his ear. 

He almost wanted to cry himself. “Come now,” he murmured, picking her up and running a hand over her head. “There's nothing to apologize for, Darlin'. Just know that I love you all so much.”

  
Sigrid met his eyes over Tilda's shoulder. “Lord Thranduil and Gandalf the Grey said you visited the creature of the night in the Misty Mountains to save us.” Therewas no question in her words, but her curiosity was obvious in how her eyes looked over him quizically. 

“I will explain later,” to emphasize their immediate danger, an Orc crashed through a wall a few yards from them – its chest littered with golden arrows. “For now,” urgency filled his voice, “we must get you to safety.” Bard looked around, trying to determine just where safety was. 

Setting Tilda down, Bard knelt to get on a similar level as his three very brave children. Gods, if only his wife could see them now and how much they had grown. “Listen,” he looked at his only son and pried the broad sword from his grasp. “I need you to gather the women and children; take them to the Great Hall and barricade the door. Do you understand? You cannot come out for any reason.” 

“But we wanna stay with you, Da,” Tilda cried, grasping for his wrist. 

“Show your father some respect,” Alfrid's pungent smell drifted over as he came around a corner, snarling at the little girl. “You leave it to me, Sire,” Alfrid smiled, turning to the children. “You heard him: we make for the Great Hall.”

“Alfrid,” Bard called out as the late Master's right-hand shoved along his children. “Women and children only,” he said, shoving Bain's broad sword into his hands. “I need every man fighting. See that you return.”

“I'll get them to safety, Sire. My sword is yours to command.” With that, Alfrid began moving the girls along. 

Before turning back to battle, Bard grasped Bain by the cheek, “Look after them.” The boy's nod led Bard to dissolving into a dozen bats, flying off to clear the surrounding area of Orcs so that their path to the Great Hall may be safer.

As he made his rounds through the ruined streets of Dale, Bard came across Thranduil falling from his elk, thus stopping his rampage through Orcs. He felt the world quieten as the King rolled to a kneeling position as a dozen or so Orcs came to surround him. The Bargeman had never seen someone face down such an opponent with a look of serene calm. It sent a flood of emotions rushing through him as the Elvenking began slicing through the beasts – gliding through the fight with the fluidity of water. Thranduil was a sight to watch in battle.

Wanting to show off just a tad, Bard came together to finish off the last of the Orcs in the street just as Thranduil whirled around, his sword coming to a stop right under Bard's chin.

“You really must be more careful, Dragonslayer,” Thranduil was barely maintaining his composure, a smirk threatening to pull the corners of his mouth at any moment. “Or do you have a death wish? I could have easily taken your head just now.” 

“Aye, but you didn't,” Bard didn't even attempt to conceal a smirk of his own. He and the Elvenking both seemed to forget where they were for a moment and their lips met in another fiery embrace. Their affair was certainly not lacking in the passion department, Bard noted as he nipped at Thranduil's lips gentlly, being mindful of his sharp teeth and the threat of an eternity of living in the dark – of being someone's pawn, ever at the forefront of his mind.

“You bloody fool,” Thranduil murmured against his lips, “what have you done to yourself?”

Bard breathed heavily against the Elf's lips, thinking for a moment whether he wanted to discuss his current state just yet. “Tell me, Lord Thranduil,” Bard decided upon changing the topic, not quite ready to disclose what exactly happened that morning. “Where'd you learn to fight like that?”

A throat clearing forced the two to separate. Both flushed when they realized they had an audience. With both of their heightened senses, they should have noticed the number of both Men and Elves surrounding them.

Galion, Thranduil's personal servant, stood with this hand on his hilt and the other frozen at his side, clearly amused by their display of affection. “The city has been cleared, mostly due to the forces of bats that had arrived shortly after the battle had begun.” His eyes met Bard's knowingly.

“Clearly we owe a great deal of gratitude to King Bard. The loss of life here today would have been far greater without his wise decision,” Thranduil's grey eyes were bright when they landed on Bard. A shiver ran down Bard's spine to be on the receiving end of such a look from the Elvenking. The King clearly had some words on that matter. Some perhaps not so kind. 

Again, their conversation was interrupted by the ramblings of the Wizard as he came dashing into the clearing. He instantly recognized the slight tension that hung in the air after the two Kings had been caught in a loving and passionate embrace, but the continued without pause. “Lord Thranduil, you must send a fleet to Ravenhill. Another army of Orcs march on the hill an the Dwarves will soon be overrun.”

Bard looked to the Elvenking beside him and saw the struggle clearly etched on his face. Despite Bard's help, they still lost Elves that day, and nothing anyone said or did would change that. He would be risking even more loss for a species he despised. Bard reached out and squeezed the King's hand, their cloaks long enough that no one could really see the exchange. Thranduil looked up and met Bard's gaze. His grey orbs drowning in so much grief and sorrow as he remembered all he's sacrificed so far. Whatever the King took from Bard's look seemed to assuage him a little and he looked back to the Wizard with determination. 

“I'll go,” Bard quickly interjected, knowing it would be wiser to just go alone and finish them off than risk more lives.

  
“ _Meleth nín,_ no,” the soft words caught the Bowman by surprise and he turned to face the Elf next to him. The King grasped both of his hands and pulled them close to give them some form of privacy, though it was quite impossible at this point with so many prying eyes around them. “Whatever it is that you have done to yourself, I know not what, only that it is a dark force and that I am afraid for you, does not give you the right to so carelessly throw your life away for some mere Dwarves who did nothing but get us all into this mess to begin with.”

“If we do not stop them at Ravenhill, they will surely come for the rest of us, and then we will lose any advantage we have on the hill.” Bard's eyes softened, “I'll be safe.”

“You must,” there was steel in Thranduil's voice, his gaze piercing. Bard was pleasantly surprised that the Elvenking, notorious for being cold and distant, was looking at him with so much feeling. “Not only for me or for your people, but your children. “ _Na lû e-govaned vín.”_   The King of the Woodland Realm drew the King of Dale into a gentle kiss packed with so much emotion that left Bard reeling.

  
Gandalf really does have a knack for disrupting, Bard reflected as the Wizard cleared his throat. “I do appreciate your new found love and the promising new relationship this could mean between Men and Elves, but we really do have a pressing matter at hand.”

With a slight growl, Bard pulled away from Thranduil, shooting a glare at Gandalf that was no match for the one his lover was laying down on the Wizard. “Soon, Thranduil,” Bard whispered, looking once more at the King and then taking off once more in the form of a dozen bats.

  
Thranduil looked on, his brow furrowing in worry. “ _Galu,_ Dragonslayer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na lû e-govaned vín - Until we next meet.  
> Galu - Good luck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle over Ravenhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT! Life has been crazy and this chapter was... Well it was something.  
> I would like to give a huge shout out to insanitys-wonderland (go check her out on tumblr!) for listening to my constant back and forth on how I want this to end. Which oh, by the way, is nigh. Either 10 or 11 chapters and an epilogue!   
> I also sped up a few sequences from the movie for this. Having an all-powerful being doesn't make for much fun and angst :8

“Galion, recall your company,” Thranduil ordered after the Dragonslayer had flown off. The Elf's horn blared over the noise of a city that had just seen battle – the cries of those mourning the fallen, the guttural noise of the last of the Orcs being taken care of, shouts for healers to tend the wounded. The Elvenking made his way for his tent. He needed a reconnaissance immediately with his ranking officers to determine who could be spared to follow Bard up to Ravenhill. The foolish Man needed backup, whether he believed his powers to be enough or not. Thranduil would not allow the Bargeman to - without a second thought, the King cut down the Orc that had jumped into his path – risk his life for a few Dwarves without at least some aide. And aide he would have.

His progression halted, however, when the sight of Tauriel standing at the end of the street greeted him, ordering him to stop.

“Get out of my way,” the Elvenking spat, having no time to deal with the former Captain of his guard.

“The Dwarves will be slaughtered.”

Honestly, did she not know with whom she was speaking to? Of course the Dwarves would die. They are mortal; something she would be smart to remember.

Tauriel drew her bow, aiming directly for her King's head. “You think your life is worth more than theirs – when there is no love in it? When there is no love in you?”

Her words dug like knives into Thranduil. He has known love – of course he has loved! He had loved his wife so dearly. Had mourned for her after losing her to battle, just as he may today with the one who had been the first in centuries to make him feel again. It had only been a day, and yet the mortal had grown to mean so much to him. The Dragonslayer had sparked a hope deep in the Elvenking's once frozen heart that perhaps he could open himself to love again.

And yet, he saw a piece of himself reflected back in the Silvan Elf's eyes. Her loyalty to the mortal she had unbeknownst given her heart to. Thranduil, however, knew that he would endure the death of a loved one, just as he always had. Tauriel was a completely different story. The young Elf had such a big heart that loved fast and fierce; she would never be able to survive the death of the Dwarf.

Drawing his sword, he quickly dispatched Tauriel of her bow and aimed the tip at her throat. “What do you know of love? Nothing.” Not the turmoil of losing the one you hold dearest to you. The pain that will follow you for eternity. He had to spare her from that suffering. “What you feel for that Dwarf is not real. You think it is love. Are you ready to die for it?”

Another sword met his. Thranduil allowed his sword to fall as his son told him that the King would have to kill him if he harmed Tauriel. The King of the Woodland Realm felt powerless to stop the two from dashing off to aide those atop Ravenhill. He was always powerless when it came to his son. 

\--

Bard had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Who he even thought he was – to be pursuing the affections of the Elvenking? He had obviously lost his mind, that is for sure. It had been years since the loss of his wife, and he has never considered another in the interim. No, his family was too important. He had to keep them in mind, and to do so required hours upon hours working away to ensure their well being. It wasn't perfect, but they made it work. Suddenly, the King of the Woodland Realm just comes trotting right in for the rescue and Bard rolls over like a dog starved for attention.

True, he had never laid eyes upon one of Thranduil's nature – someone who possessed such an ethereal beauty, and yet this beauty held a deadly quality to it, as if you could cut yourself on his skin or his gaze could slay you where you stood with one look – but Bard could not afford to entertain these feelings.

Besides, he was merely a Bargeman. His people wished to crown him King, but that was laughable at best and would hardly change anything in the dynamic between the Bowman and the Elvenking. Thranduil was  _immortal_ , for Valar's sake. How could he possibly care for a Man? Or even one so lowly as a Bargeman struggling to support his three children?

Despite his inner turmoil, he could not deny the tangible chemistry between himself and the Elf. Whenever they were around each other, he was drawn to the King. The Dragonslayer had found himself wanting nothing more than to stride the few short steps towards Thranduil, take him in his arms and declare the Elvenking as his and no others to all of Middle Earth whenever in the same room together. It was a dangerous game they were playing. And they were both playing it, too. It had taken Thranduil grabbing Bard's face and melding them together as one to realize it, but the Elvenking had made it quite obvious his intentions towards the Bowman. Who was Bard to deny the King's wishes?

It was all so maddening. His mind raced with all the implications their affair, the complications that would arise in a relationship such as theirs. These all came to a crashing halt when he crested the mountain.

_Too late._

He was too late. Bard reached Ravenhill just as one of the Oakenshield's fell to his death, having just been pierced through the heart with Azog's blade. Stuttering mid-flight, Bard felt a heavy weight fill his heart. It was the same Dwarf who had saved the lives of his children. Sigrid had spoken so highly of Thorin's nephew.

Letting out a howl of anger and hurt, Bard swooped in to take out the Orcs standing too near the cliff's edge.

\--

Orcs were nasty creatures. They smelled of vile mixture of death and decay. They spat a black liquid with their glottal language and roars. Bard wanted nothing more than to send them all back to the hell in which they came.

It was with this thought that he sent the last of the ones still on the ledge to its death, its heart clutched in Bard's grasp as he had ripped it from its chest. Their leader disappeared the moment Bard met with the Orcs on the landing, down some stairs along the back. The Dragonslayer made his way to follow the foul beast when he rounded on Kili taking down an Orc below.

The Dwarf looked up at the Bargeman in confusion, “Bard?”

Bard didn't have time to respond, a group of Orcs descended upon them in that moment. Kili worked his way through them, moving up the stairs to find better footing on the landing just below Bard. The father of three stayed at the top of the tower, taking on any Orc that reached the top and keeping any eye on the rest of the rubble. Good thing for that, Bard realized grimly as hundreds of bats that were quite obviously not the ones he harnessed burst forth from the other side of the mountain and swooped down over the ruins of Ravenhill, making their way for the battlefield below.

He called for his bats to assemble above him, walking towards the edge of the cliff. Raising a hand above his hand, he controlled their direction and pace. Just when Bard felt it was the right moment, he crashed his fist down to the floor, signaling the bats to go after the enormous bats of their enemy. The bats obeyed without protest, flying right for the battlefield once more and meeting with their kind in a grand clash of squeaks and cries. The bats tore at each other, and Bard managed to distract the larger bats from attacking the Elves and Dwarves still fighting against the dwindling legion of Orcs.

When he heard the cries of a female come from somewhere behind him, Bard left his bats to finish the task he had given them and went to find her. He disassembled into a dozen bats and flew over the tops of Ravenhill, searching for the woman in distress. The sight of Bilbo Baggins laying strewn over an outcropping of rubble changed his course of direction, however. He quickly made for the Hobbit, checking his pulse to see if he was still alive. With a sigh of relief, Bard pulled his fingers away, his pulse weak, but still going. Shaking his head, the Dragonslayer moved the Hobbit's body out of danger, or at least as much as he could. He hid his body in a rock crevice, making note to come and get him after the destructed city was cleared of the Orc rabble. What the Hobbit thought he was doing up here to begin with was beyond Bard, but he had a feeling the halfling had a knack for getting himself into all sorts of danger.

Once Bilbo was tucked away, safe for now, Bard flew off again. This time, he came to a stop to help out one of the Dwarves who was being overrun with Orcs. Hopping from one Orc to the next. Bard quickly dispatched of the filth before taking off once more, not sparing a moment to exchange words with the bewildered Dwarf.

The Dragonslayer arrived to where the cries had come from just as a female Elf threw herself and an Orc over the edge of the landing with a shout. He started to follow when he saw the body of Kili lying on the ground, unmoving. A pool of blood surrounded the young Dwarf. Frustration ripped through his chest in the form of a ferocious roar. What good was having all of this power if he could not use it to save lives?

Of course, it did not escape Bard how entirely ironic the question was. His powers came from a source of darkness; it fed off of darkness. Only death and destruction would come in its wake.

He could hear the approaching Orc army from the north. Those few that had appeared earlier were just scouts, he realized belatedly. There was no way they could hold Ravenhill with so few protecting it. 

Remembering the Elf and Orc that had went over the edge moments ago, Bard recollected himself. With one more glance at the fallen Dwarf, a frown twisting his mouth, the Bowman went after the two. He was having difficulty keeping up with the battle here, always a step behind the enemy. First Fili, then Kili. He would be damned if he let another die where he could have intervened.

A blonde Elf baring a striking resemblance to Thranduil had the Orc preoccupied, so Bard went to check on the Elf with autumn hair. Her unconscious form worried Bard, for he knew nothing of healing, especially Elven healing. His gentle touch on her brow stirred her, and hazel eyes met his and she blinked several times to clear the fog away.

“Kili,” she murmured, then sat up in fright. This time his name left her lips in a cry of agony.

Bard was rather surprised that an Elf cared so much for a Dwarf. His understanding was that the two kinds didn't quite get along, especially given the relationship between Thranduil and the sons of Durin. As the Elf swayed back and forth, her mother tongue rambling so fast Bard would not have been able to keep up even if he knew Sindarin. She seemed to have finally noticed his presence when she grasped him by the shoulders.

“Please, take me to him.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and he could hardly deny her the simple request.

“What is your name?” The Dragonslayer asked as they made their way quickly up some rocks and onto the battered remnants of the Dwarf guard post.

It took the Elf a moment to answer. “Tauriel,” she finally said.

This gave Bard a start. This was the same Elf who had come to the aide of his children when the Orcs had attacked their home while he sat uselessly and imprisoned due to that bastard. _The Master_. His name drew a grimace out of Bard before he remembered himself and stopped to look Tauriel full on. “You saved my children,” he made a formal bow to her, knowing it would hardly help the state she was in, but he tried anyways. “I know there is nothing I could say or do to make it up to you, especially now, but please know that you will always be welcomed into our home with open arms.”

The Elf seemed stricken, her mind and heart battling over how to respond to his display. “I assure you it was of no consequence to me, Sir-”

“Just call me Bard,” the Bowman provided with a small smile.

“Bard,” she repeated, though she did not return his smile. “I will keep your offer in mind.”

He inclined his head in understanding as they started their path again. The pair reached the landing that held the young Oakenshield. Beside him, Tauriel inhaled sharply and collapsed next to Kili, her hands running over his hair and her tears finally falling free.

Not wanting to intrude any further, Bard returned to the battle, making his way for the frozen waterfall where he had last seen Thorin. There, he found Orcs littering the ice and Thorin facing down the Orc leader. The Dragonslayer was just about to join Thorin when a horn blared from the North and the Orc army crested the mountain. They really could not gain the upper hand in this battle.

Recalling his league of bats, Bard took off for the Orc army ahead. Together, with what remained of the bats, they strategically took out a number of Orcs at a time; dodging arrows and flying spears all the while.

To the South, the cry of an eagle carried over Ravenhill. Bright sunlight followed the flock of eagles as they descended upon the crumbled guard post. Pausing in his rampage over the Orc army, Bard studied the oncoming Eagles with concern. He could not maintain his cover of darkness for long, there was a Wizard amongst them and he seemed to be dispelling the clouds that hung low over Ravenhill.

Making a quick decision, Bard abandoned his attack and made for cover.

The eagles had come, after all. Bard had done all that he could; they would be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just a big thank you for reading this and supporting me. It really has been a big help whenever I get stuck or I forget to write. Despite my life being a crazy mess, I have this little story to get lost in and then all of you who come out and enjoy it with me.  
> Again, just thank you so much for sticking with me through all this. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard meets with Thranduil at Ravenhill after the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Laptop is officially dead for at least a few more weeks until a new battery comes in :/ (hopefully that's all that's wrong!!)  
> Maybe this will make up for it???

Bard had found a small nook in the ruins of Ravenhill where no one would disturb him and he could hide away until nightfall. The need to go and look after his people was almost crippling. He would be King, and as such needed to act as one, not hide away in fear of the sunlight that shone over the land. The Dragonslayer had a duty to the people he had led from Laketown to the ruins of Dale who had lost everything because of his foolish and greedy decision to help the Dwarves on their quest to reclaim their home. He needed to make reparations, to make sure every single person was cared for. Yet, the Bowman cowered in the depths of collapsed hall, seeking the comfort of shadows. He only had to wait two days before he could return to his normal self.

Could he wait two days? Even now, the thirst burned hot in his throat. The pressing need to drink became stronger every second, especially now that there was no battle to distract him from the hunger that plagued his body. Bard could hear the heartbeat of every being that passed through Ravenhill. The blood pumping through their veins in a steady, drumming rhythm that mocked him from where he hid.

The smell of death hung thick in the air, but it was the waft of autumn berries and leaves that finally drew Bard from his hiding place. He found the Elvenking looking out over the battlefield where Elves, Dwarves and Men alike were taking care of what Orc filth remained, tending to the wounded, and easing the passage of those who would not make it back to the healers' tents. The King of the Woodland Realm's armor glowed bright when the Bargeman had turned the corner, far more than it had earlier that day, he realized after a moment. It took another moment before Bard realized Thranduil's armor was made of silver. He attributed his newly found aversion to the armor to the time he spent in the dark, or maybe it was the thirst that brought forth his weakness.

In addition to the silvery glow warning him of its potency, the smell of the warm blood flowing through Thranduil's veins filled Bard's senses so much that he had to bite his lip from moaning, barely keeping himself from lunging for the Elf. For this, Bard stayed in the shadows, well out of the way of the sunlight trickling in from the opening and keeping a relatively safe distance from the Elvenking. Though, he wished nothing more than to join Thranduil, be there by his side for as long as he was wanted.

"I feel the loss of the day blanket me," Thranduil spoke first, breaking the silence that surrounded them - though the sounds below could reach them, it was as if they were in their own bubble. "Its weight heavy upon my shoulders."

Bard swallowed hard, knowing the feeling all too well. "It is not a weight you should bear alone, my Lord."

The title seemed to have amused the King briefly. "'My Lord'? I thought we were past formalities, Bard."

"Of course, Thranduil," Bard barely suppressed a small smile of his own. It was a pleasant thing to smile in that moment, after all that had happened over the day.

Thranduil turned to him then. "Are you finally to tell me what has happened to you?" The Elvenking took a step towards the Dragonslayer, who in turn took a step back. This earned a raised eyebrow and pursed lips from the Elf, though he didn't make another move for him. "Why there is not a heartbeat in your chest?" He continued, "Why you take comfort in the shadow and hide from me now?"

Bard began to pace, refusing to meet the piercing grey eyes that watched him intently as he moved about the small room, keeping to the shadows with every mindful step. "I'm afraid you will draw back in horror if you knew what has become of the Man you have shared your bed with, for he is a Man no more." Bard looked up then with a wry smile, "At least, for now. In two days time, I shall return back to the Man you met before."

There was something indecipherable in the Elvenking's eyes when Bard finally met them. "Bard, I would see you safe and happy, no matter what you've become or what you were before. I cannot help if you do not tell me everything. Please, allow my help." The honesty in Thranduil's voice matched the feeling in his eyes and the Bowman felt an indescribable shiver run through him. He felt his chest lighten as the truth would now be shared with another.

"I," Bard began, the words almost choking him. "I found the creature in the Mountains. It talked of finding one worthy of the darkness. It gave me the rules of our deal, drank from me and I it, then killed me."

"Drank?"

"Yes, we drank each others' blood," Bard's eyes bore holes into the ground with how intense he was staring at it, as if to bury his shame into the rock below, and to avoid the horrified expression that was sure to have seized the Elvenking's face.

"Bard," Thranduil whispered, though Bard dared not raise his face in acknowledgement of his name for he could not bear to feel the rejection of the Elf. "Bard," a finger caught his chin and lifted his head up. He had not even noticed the other coming near him, but he fought the urge to jerk away from the glaring silver of his armor. "Look at me, Bard. Look. At. Me." The steel in the Elvenking's voice finally made Bard meet the icy steel eyes of Thranduil. So much emotion filled his gaze, but none that Bard recognized were of disgust or horror. Relief flooded through Bard's entire being. To be accepted by this ethereal creature made all that Bard had done almost feel okay.

"Now, Bard," the Elf looked determined now. "What were the rules this creature gave you?"

"It said that I would get a taste of its power with its blood. For three days, I would experience its might. Sunlight and," Bard looked pointedly down at Thranduil's armor so near to him, "silver would be my weaknesses." The King immediately pulled away, putting some distance between them with a look of regret at having caused any pain to Bard, but the Dragonslayer just shook his head to wave off the apologies. Thranduil had not known. "As long as I did not feed for the three days," Bard went on, "I would return to the Man I was before I went into that accursed cave. However, if I fed, I would be cursed myself to live in the shadows for eternity and the creature would be set free."

"As long as you do not drink blood, you will return to a mortal state?" Thranduil clarified after a brief pause. The way the Elvenking had framed the question caught the Bowman by surprise, but he nodded in answer. The taller of the two was obviously considering something intently, but he did not share his thoughts with the other.

"Tell me what troubles you, Thranduil."

A forced smile pulled at the King of the Woodland Realm's mouth. "To even begin to list all the thoughts that filtered through my mind every moment of the day would take an eternity to describe." Thranduil moved away from Bard and towards the opening, his back now facing Bard and the latter unable to move to look at his face.

"Isn't it all rather... frightening?" The King finally murmured after a moment.

The Dragonslayer's mouth twisted into a frown, unsure rather the Elf meant that Bard should be feared or another matter entirely. "Certainly, Thranduil," Bard answered after a pause, "but as I do not intend to feed in the next two days, we should have nothing to fear."

"Though your condition is worrisome, it was not what I referred to."

Before Bard could respond, Thranduil turned to him once more, his look intent and his stormy orbs piercing his brown ones with so much meaning hidden within the depths of its clouds.

"It has been a millennia since I lost the only person I thought could ever hold my heart." Understanding sunk in then, and Bard nodded for Thranduil to go on. "When she passed, I allowed my heart to be encased in stone, drew away from the world and hid behind the walls of my Realm. Though we had met before when you became the Bargeman who dealt with our empty wine barrels, I did not fully know you until the first time I had ventured out since the dragon had settled into the forges of Erebor. And something I have yet to determine whether terrifying or purely incredible, hope has fissured the stone surrounding my heart. It cracks more and more whenever you are near." Thranduil had slowly been approaching Bard, seeking approval in the latter's eyes for the closeness, both mindful of the silver armor encasing the Elf's body. Now he was mere inches away, his breath mingling with his own. Thranduil brought his hands up to cradle Bard's face and brought their foreheads together at an angle that would avoid the silver circlet atop the King's head.

"I know not why you have enraptured me body and soul in so little of time..." The Elf's words were felt on Bard's lips more than heard.

"Then do not question it. Allow yourself to fall with me. We can take this next step and every one after together."

Thranduil's eyes bore into Bard's own, as if searching for an answer to a question unasked. Bard, despite years of dedicating his every waking moment to his children and hiding his pain from them so not to worry them, too, let his soul lay bare before the Elvenking. He hid behind no walls, asked no questions. For the first time since his beloved wife had past away, he wanted to open himself to another; wanted to share their struggles with one another, to know he wasn't alone and that he did not need to bear the world on his shoulders. The Dragonslayer knew not why it was the _Elvenking_ his heart had chosen to be this person in his life, but it was and he could not find one reason to argue.

What had started as a heated affair - each a single father with the responsibility of a kingdom on their minds and a war looming overhead that could very well hold their deaths had met in a starved frenzy, neither putting much thought to reason - had blossomed into an inexplicable partnership. Within two days, the two had grown thick as thieves; whether they were rolling their eyes over the ramblings of an old Wizard, or discussing battle strategies over Dorwinion wine provided by the Elvenking. They had come to respect the others opinion and hold it in great esteem. Even if their brief attempt at love did not extend past the threat of battle and death, Bard could not even begin to express the debt in which he was to Thranduil and his Realm. Though Thranduil may have come to Dale's aide under other reasons, he had stayed and fought alongside Men and Dwarves despite his isolationist policies. That, in itself, could never be repaid. Bard would give Thranduil the stars if it was only possible.

There was a shift in the blue eyes that snapped Bard from his internal thoughts. As though the Elvenking had heard his thoughts, a hopeful smile began to uncurl the Elf's pursed lips. Bard reached his hands up and slid them into his hair. If his heart still beat, it would have been a thunderous drum ready to explode forth from his chest as their lips met despite the bright smiles both wore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, last chapter it may have appeared that Bard didn't recognize Legolas... that's my fault because I had totally forgot about their very brief interaction in the movie :x sorry...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard returns to the ruins of Dale to help the recovery process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me begin by saying, I AM SO SORRY! I've been without a laptop for over a month now and am yet again updating via the computers in the library. Work and school have kept me from using any free time in the labs to update as I have to do all of my school work in the labs in the given times and JUST UGH OKAY. I do hope this helps :8

Nightfall came and with it, Bard made the journey back down to the ruins of Dale. Thranduil had asked why Bard hadn't just summoned more clouds to cover his path, to which he replied he was completely worn out from how much he had exerted himself over the course of the day. The Elvenking had understood, and after discussing a few matters such as the Durin line ending with the death of Thorin and his nephews - which had left a bitter taste in the Dragonslayer's mouth - he bid Bard rest before coming down and throwing himself into the intensive labor that lay before the survivors. Thranduil had been called away not long after and Bard had found a spot to do just that for the few hours left in the day.

Crossing the battlefield had been exceedingly difficult. Many times, the Bowman fought the urge to just fly the rest of the way. Though convenient, it would do no good to add another fear to his people's minds, for them to think their new leader a monster. Thinking it best instead to just wait out the next two days until he would return to being a mortal man, and if any were to question him about the battle, he would simply brush it aside as their over active imagination in light of so much death and destruction. Surely their minds would be much more preoccupied with tending to the wounded, mourning the dead and celebrating the living than worrying over rumor and speculation.

But of course, these were the people of the Lake. They thrived on gossip, and so by the time Bard had made it to the Great Hall, word of their new King's abilities that had been witnessed during the battle had spread throughout all of Dale - even the Elven camps and on to Erebor, where the dwarves grieved over their fallen Durin sons. The Bowman had barely made it to the doors before he became aware of the stares. Brushing it off as either shock over his new position or his sudden reappearance, Bard went about finding his children. Those left ravaged by battle were far more important than whatever had the people of Laketown so intrigued by the Dragonslayer.

Thankfully, Bard entered the Great Hall without much incident. There, he found that someone had started a makeshift clinic for the wounded. He quickly brushed past those rushing in and out through the large doors, the need to see his children almost as great as the thirst that reared its ugly head at the sweet smell of blood that covered much of the hall.

Sigrid was the first he spotted, leaning over a man with a bandaged eye, feeding him broth and talking to him in a such a gentle demeanor that Bard knew she had learned from her mum; it was the same voice she used on her siblings whenever they were sick. As much as Bard had tried to be both father and mother to his children, Sigrid just had too much of her mum in her to watch her Da flounder around before stepping in with a laugh, pushing aside and assuring him it was fine. When Bard reached her, a bright smile wore proud on his face as she gave a shout, "Da!" and set the bowl aside so she could throw her arms around him, and his her. "I was so worried when you didn't return."

Something twisted nasty in Bard's gut, "I'm so sorry, darling. I came as soon as I could." He pressed a kiss to her head before pulling away, but not letting his arms fall. "Have you seen your siblings?"

"Yes, Tilda is with the other little ones in a room in this keep. A few of the towns' mothers are with them. They should be just going to bed now," Sigrid murmured the last part, stretching around her father's shoulder to see where the sun had set.

"And your brother, Bain?"

"He's out searching for survivors with the other able-bodied that aren't here tending the wounded."

Bard nodded, expecting as much of his brave son. "I reckon that's what I'll be doing shortly, but first I must see your sister with my own eyes. Oh!" he sighed, drawing his eldest to him once more. "How I've worried and am so relieved to see you unharmed."

"I love you, Da," Sigrid squeezed him just as hard.

"And I you, darling. I will return later. And please, find rest soon. You're no good to the wounded if you work yourself into a bed next to them."

Sigrid gave him a hard look, "I will as long as you promise to heed your own advice."

A chuckle bubbled out of the man, looking at his eldest with her hands on her hips and lips pursed. "Of course. Now go on back to your patient."

With a cry and eyes widening in shock, Sigrid hurried to the man on the cot. "I am so sorry, Mister Elric!"

Bard smiled once more at his daughter before turning around and heading for one of the doors in the back of the hall. He figured it wouldn't be much work finding a room teemed with little ones. And so he was right, just moments after passing into a corridor, a squeal pealed from the room across from him and to the right, followed by giggles and several hushes. The Dragonslayer knocked on the door before peeking inside. Sure enough, the squeal had erupted from his littlest, standing in the middle of the room with her hands frozen and stretched out in front of her like claws reaching for another child.

One of the mothers looking after the children breathed out in relief, the others looked on him as if they were wary of his presence.

"Da!" Tilda squealed once more, running after him and he laughed, bending down to grab her and lift her small frame to his chest where he could clutch her tight to him.

"Hullo, darling. Been causing a ruckus, I see." He glanced around the room to see all eyes glued on him.

This got a giggle out of Tilda as she leaned back and grinned slyly at him. "I was telling them how my brave Da slew a giant without a sword or bow, but with your nails like this:" she mimicked claws raking at his face, "and a great, big ROAR!"

"Oh, now Tilda, I dunno if that's exactly how it went," he gave another nervous look about the room, noting the wide and cautious eyes watching his every move. Even a few of the mothers watched him suspiciously.

"No, Da! I was there and saw it with my own eyes! And even though I was scared of you first, you told me you were still you and not to tell any- oh no!" She stopped her ramblings with a gasp, and her hands flying to cover her mouth. "Da," she said in a loud whisper, eyes wide in fear. "I told them." Her eyes watered instantly. "Oh Da, I'm so sorry. I didn't keep our secret." She flung her little arms around his neck and cried into his hair.

"Hush now, darling. You did nothing wrong." But now the eyes of the mothers were hard and they came to stand more between him and the children protectively. His grip tightened and he ran a shaking hand over Tilda's hair. "It's okay, I swear."

A sniffle, then, "You promise?" She looked up at him through her blonde ringlets with hopeful eyes.

"Of course I promise!" He kissed her forehead. "You know I could never be mad at you, darling."

She giggled, pulling on his hair. "No, you wouldn't.

"And why's that?"

"Because you love me!" Tilda grinned, then added in a mock whisper. "And because I'm you're favorite."

Bard barked out a laugh at that. "I love all my children equally, I'll have you know. I've no idea where you'd even get the notion. Speaking of," he glanced up, feeling the mothers circling him like hawks over their prey, or maybe over their nest and another predator was near. "I must go find your brother."

"Ah, but Da! Couldn't you stay and tell us a story, you always tell the best stories."

"Not tonight darling, but perhaps another time, I promise." He gave her another kiss.

She huffed a sigh, "Mmkay, I love you!" Little arms hugged him tight again and returned the sentiment before setting her down. He trusted the mothers not to harm her; it was he they were suspicious of, not Tilda. He gave them a nod before slipping out.

So that was the cause of the stares, he thought with a rueful roll of his eyes. With a shake of his head, Bard quickly found himself back outside, the sky now painted black and stars just beginning to come out. Rumor must have spread quickly, he realized after walking a bit. He had only been hidden away in Ravenhill for a few hours before he had returned to find the whole city's inhabitants' eyes on him. Well, let them talk. He had done them all a great service at a great price of his own and they would do well to realize that. Bard would work diligently to restore Dale to its former glory as long as they'd let him. But if it ever came they could not live with a monster in their midst - should he not make the next two days clean of having tasted blood - then he wasn't sure what he'd do. He couldn't possibly uproot his children again so soon after losing the only home they'd ever known, nor would he curse them to live out the rest of their lives in exile to the darkness, and he could not allow them to remain with the very people who would scorn him and force his leave. Though the Dragonslayer could hardly blame them, he was a monster now, even for just a few days. Was the reward of saving lives worth the loss of his humanity? Bard could not yet answer that with any sense of surety.

He found Bain walking down to the main gate, his shoulders sagged with the work he had done that day. A frown tugged at Bard's lips, looking at his son so worn down from his labors. Bard gave a shout of his son's name, and he spun, his shoulders lifting with delight. With a cry for his Da, the boy ran for Bard and nearly knocking the latter down in his excitement. "Oh Da! It's so good to see you. I knew you made it."

"I'm sorry I worried you." Just like with his girls, Bard pressed a kiss to Bain's sandy curls. They all had their mother's hair. They parted, but Bard kept a hand tight on his son's shoulder. "I'm so proud that you and Sigrid have worked so hard to help others. But now it's time for rest." Bain began to protest, but Bard squeezed his shoulder. "I'll take over from here. You've done a good job, Bain, and you should be proud of yourself. Now, go find Sigrid and a bite to eat, then you two need to sleep. You can get back to it first thing in the morning. There'll still be plenty to do then."

His head bobbed in acceptance, "Okay, Da. I'll see you tomorrow, then." Bain started to go off, but Bard grabbed him for one last hug.

"I love you. And you need to stop growing," Bard pushing Bain away with a hand ruffling his hair.

Bain groaned, "Da!" But he was smiling as he headed off. "Love you, too. Night, Da!"

\--

At some point, Bard had lost count of the number of trips he had made to the battlefield, the city having already been cleared when he had returned at dusk. The blood flowing from the wounded men, and even women, he carried was ever taunting his new appetite. He could feel his canines elongate whenever the smell of blood overcame his senses, which was all the time now. It had gotten to the point that he just let them be, but kept his mouth clamped shut, jaw clenched tight as he transported the bodies to the healers and communicated merely by physical reactions or a variety of grunts.

The moon had been high in the sky for a while when an Elf appeared before him.

"My Lord-"

Bard raised a hand, effectively interrupting the Elf clad in the garb of a Mirkwood scout, which seemed to annoy the Elf minutely if the twitch in his brow was anything to go by. "Please," Bard spoke to the ground as he wiped his filthy hands on an equally filthy cloth, careful to keep his mouth angled just so and his fangs hidden from the Elf's keen gaze. "I have not been crowned yet. Tis best if we set aside titles while we still can." This came with a chuckle from the former Bargeman. _King_. It was all ridiculous. He just had to wait until the day when they people of Laketown realized just how foolish the idea was and found someone more suiting to rule over them in the new city of Dale. For now, he would play along if to only give them some relief of mind to the weary people.

He glanced up to see the Elf's brows drawn together, as if in a struggle on what to call Bard. Appearing to have settled on a name, the Elf's face resumed its previous stoney, indifferent expression. Bard wondered if indeed all elves' resting faces were so detached. "Dragonslayer," the Elf continued, raising a brow at Bard as if he anticipated him to object to this name, too. The Man just raised his hands in a placating gesture. "My Lord requests an audience with you."

"A little late for business calls," Bard muttered, then nodding for the Elf to lead the way.

They were quite some ways from the Elvenking's camp, so Bard struck up a conversation with the Elf, not only for distraction that might make the sharpened teeth recede, but it was polite and he found himself curious to the nature of the Mirkwood elves and if they were all so intense as their King. He learned that the Elf's name was Feren and that he had been a member of Thranduil's guard longer than Bard could probably trace his ancestry and has looked after the King's son since he was a _hên_. Though he could not extract much information from Feren, he could at least gleam that his penchant for sarcasm could possibly match that of his King - though he wouldn't dare risk his wrath - and that he was weary of the royal family as of late, "Do not mention _any of this_ to my Lord."

In a short amount of time, the two had fallen into a conversation, and Bard found his teeth of normal size before long. By the time the two reached the King's tent, Bard found himself sad to depart from the amusing guard, and promised himself he would seek his company should the time ever be spared for friendly visits.

Bard nodded to his new Elf friend before stepping past the two guards posted outside and went into the tent. Thranduil was pouring over a handful of papers on his desk, a simple - yet richly made - robe adorned his shoulders, his silver circlet set on the table. It was the first time Bard had seen the Elvenking without a crown upon his head, even having worn it when he had taken Bard to bed the night before. The sight of it gave him pause and his stomach fluttered.

"I have here papers that will document the aid my kingdom will provide yours in the coming days. At that time, we will write up more long-term treaties. For now, you can look them over and sign if you deem them fit." Without even glancing at Bard, Thranduil collected his goblet and sat heavily in his chair, a hand coming up to press at his temple.

"Thranduil?" Bard questioned, ignoring the jolt that had shocked him when the King had overlooked him, and instead allowed the worry to be evident in his voice. Taking a few short strides forward, Bard came to kneel before the Elvenking.

A soft sigh escaped the lips drawn tight in a grim smile as Thranduil gazed down at his mortal lover. "My son left me today atop Ravenhill after the battle and it is only now sinking in that I have lost him, and not to death or duty, but because he could not stand my company any longer. One would think I should have been more prepared for my son to leave my kingdom and go off to find himself. Yet, I cannot so easily party with my greenleaf as I should. He is more than old enough to make his own choices. If that includes riding off so soon after a battle on a new quest to find himself, then I can only give him my blessing and wish for a safe return to my halls whenever he is ready to journey home." The ' _to me_ ' was left unsaid.

Bard found Thranduil's hands after setting his cut aside, and brought them to his lips. "That is all a father can do when their child is ready to leave the nest. Valar knows I dread the day courters start ringing on my door for Sigrid's hand and I must part with her, but I know she will always be _my_ little girl and will find her way home to me. That is what you must do now, my love. Accept his departure as one necessary for his development and not one in slight of you-"

"Oh, but Bard," the Elvenking gave a cry, his grey eyes misting with new clouds. "That is why he has left me. I have been such a terrible father."

"Now I don't believe that for a second. Wanna know why?" Bard asked with a tilt of his head, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Thranduil gave him an expectant look to continue. "For your heart is so large that you have come out of your isolated kingdom to finally recollect the last remnant on this earth of your beloved with a host at your back that would follow you to the ends of Middle Earth if you so much as asked for they love you just as much as you love them. For your heart is so large that you stayed and came to the aide of not only men, but dwarves as well! When all but death laid before them, you stayed. For your heart is so large, you would request the presence of a monster."

"You are not-"

With a shake of his head, Bard cut off whatever objection Thranduil had. "Believe in your love and have faith that your son will return to you."

Something seemed to settle within Thranduil, a sense of contentment. "For a Man, you are very wise."

A soft chuckle escaped Bard, "I'll take that as the compliment I'm sure you meant."

A corner of Thranduil's mouth twisted up in a warm smile. He would still hurt with the absence of his son, and the numbers of lives lost that day, but Bard would be there for him as long as the Elf would have him. The Elvenking leaned forward for a swift press of their lips before tilting his head so that their foreheads rested against one another.

" _Gerog i chûn nîn (mi i chaim gîn), Melleth nîn_."

The words were murmured against his lips, though it would not have made a difference if Bard could have seen the words shape Thranduil's lips; Bard still felt the endearment and didn't ask for a translation.

Another kiss to Bard's lips before the Elvenking pulled away, but his hands remained in Bard's. Thranduil turned them over, now holding the others' palms in his and squeezed softly. "Now, I had an inkling your work was proving to be more than you may have expected. I also asked of your presence to advise the future King of Dale that though his efforts of labor were to be admired and appreciated, there are more matters to attend to than those any other Man could fulfill." With a nod of his head and his infamous smug smirk, though filled with more mirth than usual, Bard was reminded of the treaties Thranduil had mentioned upon his arrival.

Rolling his eyes fondly at Thranduil, Bard rose and went to look over the papers on the desk. Thranduil brought him a goblet of wine a moment later, and though it would do nothing to quench his ever worsening thirst, Bard took an eager sip and moaned when coppery blood poured into his mouth. He quickly downed the rest in one big gulp and licked at his lips for any last trace of it. Realization truck him then, and he dropped the goblet in horror, turning to the Elvenking.

"You-"

"Animal blood," Thranduil interrupted calmly, returning to his makeshift throne as if Bard hadn't just drank blood like the monster he was now. "That of a goat, if you must know. It was to be roasted tonight for a small feast for the wounded - which was your daughter's idea, a very bright child you have raised - and I had it drained before it was to be sent to the cook."

Bard wasn't sure how to respond, only that the thirst quelled for the first time since he was turned. Not gone, for it still simpered low in his throat and he feared it would never be fully satiated if he were to be cursed with it for eternity. He only mumbled a thanks and returned to the papers, a new vigor aflame in his heart and he made quick work of checking the treaties.

Before he could even say a word, Thranduil had brought him more papers. "These are petitions for what to do with the dead."

And so the night passed. Bard ever thankful for the King's company as he worked to aid his people through the night.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> hên - child  
> Gerog i chûn nîn (mi i chaim gîn), Melleth nîn. - You hold my heart in your hands, my love.
> 
> So, did it help? *awkward smile* Thanks for sticking in there, guys. If it helps anymore, I have a lot it all plotted out. Updates will be based on when I can access a computer :x  
> also Feren just being completely done with everyone making his job so much harder than it has to be. "Just let me call you Lord, you stupid mofo."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's kissing, biting and fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S A SURPRISE GUEST IN THIS ONE, YOU GUYS!

Dawn broke over the Elven encampment, and with it found Bard mid-yawn as he sagged over a desk piled with paperwork awaiting his signature or response. Another pile had started some hours ago of finished documents that were fetched throughout the late night and into early morning to go to their rightful places. Though he had gotten a good way through it, exhaustion crept upon him with the ever spreading light and he found his vision swimming with letters.

Hands dug into his shoulders and the Bowman didn't even try to repress the satisfied sigh that left him as Thranduil massaged his tense muscles. "You should rest while you can. I will give word that even King Bard needs his sleep after working through the night so that others do not question your absence and further the rumors."

His eyes closed, Bard tilted his head back to rest against the Elvenking's stomach. "Aye, but I'm no King, yet. And you haven't slept either," he cracked open one eye to glare fondly at the elf. "Go and do what you must, then come lay with me. I will sleep much more soundly with you by my side."

"Of course," Thranduil murmured with a small smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I will return shortly." He made his way to the tent's entrance, but paused to turn his head and add, "I would that you already be laying down when I do." He threw a look at Bard over his shoulder that caused heat to rise to his cheeks before passing out into the sunlight, his hair glowing like starlight for a moment before disappearing from sight and the tent's flap closing behind him, casting Bard in a light shadow once more.

With another sigh, he pushed away from the small table and found his way into the Elvenking's quarters. Much had changed in the day that had passed since he had last laid there. Slipping off his boots and outer layer of clothes, he fell into the silk sheets with a content hum, twisting in the fur blanket and inhaling his lover's sent deeply.

Bard faintly heard Thranduil return sometime later. He had only begun to doze when the curtain separating Thranduil's private suite from his reception area gave a light rustle as the elf entered. A noise much akin to a purr escaped the Elvenking and the Dragonslayer could just make out the soft 'thump' of heavy robes hitting the floor before the elf was crawling into bed beside him, a hand roaming from Bard's waist to his shoulder and Bard rolled over without protest, blinking dazedly up at the blonde who bore down over him with hungry eyes. His head rested on a propped hand, silver hair falling over his shoulders in an array of moonlight.

"I thought we'd sleep," Bard chuckled softly, though he maneuvered himself so Thranduil's roving hand could not be barred from any place it desired to touch.

"Mmm," Thranduil pressed a hot kiss to Bard's lips, "we shall, but first I would have you so spent you begged for mercy and rest."

"Aye," Bard agreed, suddenly very much so on the same page as the elf. "I may perhaps be able to stay awake another hour or so…"

" _Huest nîn anîra dhâf moe vathad flâd lîn; anîra golitthad lîn,_ " Thranduil all but growled.

His entire body aflame with the King's roaming hand and his heated gaze, Bard somehow managed to stutter out, "What does that mean?"

This earned Bard a sly smirk from the elf before his lips were seized in a passionate kiss that would have left him breathless if he still needed to breathe. The Bowman let his lips fall open instantly, and Thranduil wasted no time; his tongue dove in and tasted all it reached. A knee slipped between Bard's open thighs and he hissed, grabbing Thranduil suddenly and flipping them over, coming to rest between the blonde's legs and a hand on either side of his head. Dark hair streaked grey cascaded in a curtain around their faces, blocking out the morning light.

Now looking down at the Elvenking, the Dragonslayer smiled wickedly before leaning down to kiss him deeply; their breathes mingled with moans as Thranduil's hands grabbed desperately at Bard's tunic. As he kissed down the elf's chin and down to the hollow of his throat, his hips began rolling with want and Thranduil's hips rose to meet each small thrust.

Licking a strip up Thranduil's long throat, he then pulled away to stare down at how disheveled he'd already made the elf. He was just about to go back in for another taste of Elven skin when his eyes zeroed in on the vein throbbing with a pulse as Thranduil stretched his head back to allow the Dragonslayer better access. Ringing drowned out the moans and little breaths that escaped the elf writhing beneath him until all he could hear was the blood pumping where his mouth had just been. His hips stuttered to a stop and he felt his teeth prick his lips and his thirst come screaming back to the forefront of his mind.

He had only lean down just a little and then he could taste sweet Elven blood.

It didn't even register that he had already begun leaning down when Bard was shoved away from his meal. A growl escaped him, causing him to shudder as he broke from the thirst-filled daze he had fallen into.

He looked up to where Thranduil was crouched at the head of the bed, a dagger in hand and a steely look to his eyes, his hair in disarray around him and lips swollen red.

Horror flooded Bard and he crawled to the corner of the room, a hand coming up to hide his face in shame from Thranduil. _Valar_ was he a fool. Thranduil had every right to draw his blade - even to use it now and be done with it. Avoiding the urge to drink proved more difficult than Bard ever imagined. His shoulders shook as he gave a mournful cry. "I'm so sorry, Thranduil. You see now the monster that I have become. I do not deserve your bed, nor do I deserve your heart."

Though he wasn't looking at him, Bard could sense Thranduil approaching him wearily, as though he would a frightened animal. The Elvenking bent to sit upon his knees in front of him.

"Bard, please look at me," his voice shook with emotion and Bard raised his eyes slowly to meet his. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I was the one who began it, even knowing the risk, and then overreacted when you did exactly what any with your burden would do in such a situation. I put you in that position. You did no wrong. Please, forgive me."

The Bowman had a feeling the Elvenking rarely apologized, let alone ask forgiveness, and so his words held even more meaning. He quickly reached out to hug Thranduil to him, to comfort both he and himself.

They sat like that for quite some time, the Dragonslayer and the King of the Woodland Realm, wrapped in each others arms upon one of the elf's fur rugs.

\--

Their brief lapse in judgement and chance of intimacy now behind them, the two slipped off into a light nap. It was some time later when Thranduil pulled away, pressing a gentle kiss to Bard's forehead with a promise to return soon, but that he had many duties to attend to before even-fall and Bard should rest until dusk - work would still be there for him when he awoke and could actually be of help.

And so it was that the Elvenking left his tent to attend to matters where he was needed and the sleeping Bard remained, blissfully ignorant of the plotting going on only a mile from him just beyond the city walls in what used to be a candle maker's shop. Now it was just four walls, a roof and a door. Several people were gathered here, talking in hushed whispers.

"Alright, quiet, quiet," Alfrid shouted above the hum of voices, calling all attention to him. The people of the Lake do not forget so easily, and many glared at the old Master's rat. One even spat the floor with a curse directed at the man. He merely shrugged and waved his arms. "Now, we all saw - or at least 'erd - of our Lord Bard's acts just yesterday durin' the battle. Aye, he fought ever valiantly and many lives be spared in thanks to the Lord," Alfrid added, running a pale hand over his chest. "However, what he did just ain't natural."

"I saw'r it!" one woman cried out. "With me own eyes, I saw'r it! He bursted into a flurry of bats right before me! Roared like a beast, he did!"

"Aye!" Another shouted. "And even his own daughter says he killed an Orc with no weapon save his bare hands. She's even frightened of her own father, the poor thing." It was one of the mothers who looked over the children while others worked on repair and tending the wounded.

A man gave a curse. "The Lord's went and become a monster himself. We can't let a devil rule us!"

This got an excited clap and slimy grin from Alfrid. "I agree. We can't allow this to go on. For the future of Dale!" He cried.

A chorus of "For Dale!" met him and they quickly assembled to make a plan on just how they would dethrone their yet-to-be-crowned King.

\--

Thranduil's patience was wearing thin as he stood and listened to the demands of Lord Dain. When Galion finished the report, the Elvenking let out a long, suffering sigh.

"The _gornhoth_ thinks he can demand reparations from _me_?" His voice was thick with scorn at the audacity of the Dwarf King. "It was his mad cousin that started this mess; he should be hearing my demands, not the other way around." It was only due to Galion's centuries of serving Thranduil that kept him from shifting in unease; any of lesser make would standing before the wrath of the Elvenking.

The King in question paced around a stone table, the only furniture in the dank, barren room that had previously been a meeting room for the Lord of Dale and his royal guests. The thought of the room had drawn the elf into Dale and he was pleasantly surprised to see it still standing. He wished to restore the room in some fashion for the meetings that would soon be taking place over the course of the next several weeks between the leaders of the three races - _Mithrandir_ would of course be present whether invited or not. Thieves had picked the room clean; leaving the walls bare of their previous adornments of woven art pieces depicting historical events of Dale, the drawers that were once full of maps of Middle Earth and old treaties of the land empty. All but the large stone table resting in the center of the room that's sole purpose was for peaceful negotiations between kings was gone. It only remained because it was much too large and burdensome to even attempt to remove it through the small door leading into the chamber and had probably been decided by the thieves to leave as it was not worth the hassle.

The empty room and the imposing table contrasted the King's rich, red robes and it created a striking image. With the Elvenking's steely expression and demanding tone only adding to the effect.

"My Lord," Galion began, but stopped when a knock came from the door.

Eredhon stepped in hastily, his face drawn tight in worry and eyes darting towards where Galion stood. "Pardon, my Lord, but a group of men march on our tent with torches and a select few weapons."

Confusion struck Thranduil at the news, "Why would they dare-" He broke off suddenly at the look Eredhon was giving him, reminding him just _who_ was in his tent at this time. " _Bard_ ," he gasped just as a thunderous roar shook the air and through the window, he could see a plume of smoke reaching up into the sky from the direction of his tent, filling him with dread.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Huest nîn anîra dhâf moe vathad flâd lîn; anîra golitthad lîn_ \- my breath desires permission to caress they skin; it desires to dance with thine. (oh _Thrandy_  
>  _gornhoth_ \- dwarf (hostile implication)
> 
> Hey guys, just wanted to give you all a huge shout out for being amazing and thank you for reading! I love getting to update whenever I have the time to type it all up because hearing from you honestly makes my week.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfrid fucks everything up. Ofc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Oh my!

Feren was walking back to his tent when the odd sight of a troop of men heading through the Elven encampment brought him to an abrupt halt. He gave an insufferable sigh before following them. Honestly, he had just been reprieved from his post and had been looking forward to a moments rest all day. Could he not have some peace and quiet for just one hour? Was that really too much to ask?

The guard followed the ensemble until they came to a stop at the King's tent. This confused the elf as the King had left that morning and had spent most of the day in Dale. Unless...

"Bard!" A ratty man called out to the tent. The appearance of the man caused Feren to draw his mouth in a look of disgust. Between his oily hair, rotted teeth, pungent smell and his unfortunate brow, it made for a rather revolting image. In any case, why the gross man sought out his King armed with a burning torch and pitchfork, Feren hadn't the slightest notion. He was just about to interfere when the man continued his nasally cries.

"We know yer in there, Bard! Out ye git, ya demon! C'mon and show the werld yer true colors, eh? Or should I say, yer teeth?" He guffawed at his own joke that apparently only he and his company understood.

Now, Feren wasn't ignorant of the rumors spreading around, or how they held some truth. He had put the pieces together himself yesterday upon seeing the Dragonslayer in battle. And while his condition worried the elf, if his King still sought his company and seemed to trust him to the point of leaving him by himself in his own quarters, then Feren would trust the man, too. Besides, he was a decent man and had gained a kinship with the elf. Feren would not tolerate anyone speaking ill of one of his friends. Only he could insult them.

"Excuse me..." Feren interrupted whatever the man was gearing up to shout next as he stepped forward out of the ring of elves and men who had gathered to watch this strange occurrence.

"Alfrid," the man supplied, his shoulders drawing high and chin tilting up.

Feren's lips twisted in distaste, but he went on. "Whatever matters you have with your king must wait until he returns to your city or he allows for messengers. However, this area is restricted for those without appropriate clearance - in which case you clearly should not be here. If you would like, I can carry your message to King Bard, but for now, I must ask for you and your party to please leave the camp and return to Dale."

The man sneered and Feren wanted nothing more than to draw a dagger and wipe it off his face. "I won't be havin' no elf tellin' me what to do."

A smirk slowly made its way on the guard's face. " _Tirith, mab sin p e-channas_."

As the Elven guards moved to apprehend the men, Alfrid gave a cry and those carrying torches threw them onto the tent and it went up in flame.

For just a moment, Feren watched in horror as the flames licked up the sides with Bard trapped inside. With the thought of his new friend, Feren snapped back to attention and quickly directed orders. He sent Eredhon to the King, trusting his haste; ordered the men to be taken into custody and called for water to be brought to extinguish the fire. He feared the rate the flames were climbing, Bard would soon be exposed or engulfed in flames.

The tent collapsed the moment the elves returned with buckets of water. An animalistic roar ripped through the sky like thunder, the air almost vibrating with its force. The pain and anguish in the noise shook Feren to his core, moving him to call the elves to dump the water on the burning pile. Feren knew he couldn't rush in to save Bard for the sun was as much an enemy as the fire. He would burn either way and it was not Feren's choice which Bard died by.

Bard's cries dwindled into small mewls and gasps until all one could hear was the crackle of flame and wood splintering. It was then that King Thranduil arrived. He pushed past where the guard had formed a tight ring around the collapsed tent to create a barrier from the ever growing crowd of onlookers - elves and men alike.

The King staggered to a stop just a food from the pile, a whispered "no" reached Feren's heightened hearing and he swallowed down a request for his majesty to step away from the fire at the pain laced in the small word.

The sky suddenly blackened with a storm, rain pouring from the clouds now hanging low above them where just a moment before the sun had shone in a dazzling light. Smoke thickened the air as the fire went out under the falling rain. There was a vicious growl and a beam of wood that once held up the tent went rolling away.

A body began to rise from where the beam had fallen in the collapse. The Elven guard could make out Bard's form in the smokey haze. The sky began to clear as the rain came to a stop, but the clouds remained - casting the camp in a twilight in midday.

With another growl, Bard ripped a piece of wood from the beam that had entrapped him and wielded it as though it were a sword as he spun around to face his audience.

"After all that I have done to protect you," the Dragonslayer howled, "this is how you repay me?"

Feren looked to King Thranduil to see if he would step in, but the Elvenking was still as a statue, his face unreadable. Glancing back to where Bard paced around the ruined tent, Feren noted the man's disheveled appearance from the fire he had just crawled out of, including a tattered cloak, his glowing red eyes, and finally, the fangs bared for all to see as he gave another growl when no one had given him a response.

"This is what you wanted to see, is it not? You wanted to see your chosen _King_ ," he spat the word out with a snarl, " a monster. Well, you have it. I suppose you welcomed the beast when it protected you during the heat of battle, but now that's over, it's to the stake for me, right?" He gave a nasty chuckle as he thrust the broken wood shard towards where Alfrid still stood, hands bound in front of him and an Elven guard gripping his shoulder tight. "You," Bard rasped, "you weasel wouldn't be alive if I hadn't done what I did."

"What ye did?" Alfrid sneered, though he was visibly shaking from having all of Bard's attention on him. "Ye became a monsta. How are we to live wit a monsta in our midst?"

Bard growled and moved to strike the man with the wooden beam piece when Thranduil finally intervened, coming to stand between the two.

"Bard," the King said with an eerie sense of calm, the same cool tone he used when giving simple commands present. "Bard, look at me." The man looked to the elf, Feren noticed Bard twitch under the King's steady gaze. "Lower the shard, you do not wish to do this."

"I never wanted any of this!" Bard cried, splintering the wood in his grasp, his long nails shredding the piece before it slipped through his fingers and fell to the earth. "I only ever wanted to protect my people."

"Only a fool would not realize that, _Meleth nîn_ ," the warmth in his King's response startled Feren just as much as the intimate name Thranduil had given Bard.

He watched with bated breath as Thranduil drew the man - no, vampire, for what else could he be? - to him and worked his hand over and over again through the brunette's hair.

Realizing no one needed to see anymore, Feren worked to clear the area. Having some escort the Men of Dale back to their city, ordering the elves not assisting in the clean up back to their tents and calling Elros to take his place directing the mess.

With another long sigh, the exhausted Elven guard returned to his own tent finally. He collapsed on his cot and threw an arm over his eyes rather dramatically.

"Next time, just take the offered vacation, Feren," he muttered aloud. "No matter if a group of dwarves escape from the dungeons. Just go."

And with that, he rolled over and dropped right off to sleep. The drama of the day already a fleeting thought as dreams of time away in another place, maybe Lórien, nay, Imladris, came over him.

\--

Red eyes blinked slowly at grey as Thranduil murmured reassurances in a launged Bard didn't know, but he kept on a steady stream as the red faded to the brown topaz the blonde had become so familiar with in such a short amount of time. A relieved sigh escaped Thranduil as he hugged Bard again.

The embrace didn't last long, however, as rough hands came up and pushed the Elvenking away. Hurt cut like a knife in his heart as his hands fell limply to his sides and Bard looked anywhere but him. His name slipped from his lips like a plea, but it only gained him a hiss from his lover.

"I cannot stay here," Bard muttered, looking around the camp like a frightened animal trapped in a cage. Thranduil felt his chest constrict at the sight of Bard so terrified of his surroundings that he was crouched low, hands curled and teeth barred still. The King wanted nothing more than to take the Dragonslayer from all the worries of the world, but he felt so far away from the man he had kissed goodbye earlier that day despite being only feet away from him now.

" _Meleth nîn_ ," the plea sounded thick to Thranduil's own ears. He took a step towards Bard, but he backed even further away from him.

"I'm a _monster_ ," the word was spat with disdain. "My people have made it clear enough what they think of me, and they are right. I am a danger to everyone and I cannot stay."

Bard finally met his eyes. The pain there turned the topaz to liquid. The Elvenking's hands twitched to reach for the Bowman, but he kept them still at his side.

"I am so sorry."

The apology hung in the air as Bard disappeared into a dozen bats and took off towards the Lonely Mountains and Thranduil felt the familiar stab of pain as his heart fissured.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tirith, mab sin pe-channas_ \- Guards, seize these idiots.
> 
> Hohohohohoho. Sorry for the angst~~ 
> 
> (no I'm not)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone hunts down Bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even think there are words that could possibly express how sorry I truly am for this two month delay. Work, finals, moving home, then moving to a new home. It's been a hell of time, that's for sure. But hey! I'm back. Let's get to it!!

"Lord Dain, I do not think hunting down Lord Bard is the best course of action," Gandalf's voice was gruff. He and the newly crowned King Under the Mountain had went round and round for hours and had yet to reach an agreement on just what they were to do about the Dragonslayer's condition.

The Lord of the Iron Hills was adamant that they pursue the vampire around the Lonely Mountain where he was last seen flying away under the protection of a low-hanging storm cloud in a cluster of bats. Rumor had reached Erebor shortly after the bats had passed that Bard had been targeted by his people and had fled Dale for the mountain. No matter the reasoning Gandalf tried to use on Dain, the dwarf wasn't listening. He was a stubborn dwarf and did not heed any of the wizard's advice.

"We don't know the exact details of what has happened with Lord Bard. While it is concerning what we have both witnessed of the man, and that fueled by the rumors from Dale are causes for even more concern, it would be premature to go after him as if he were an animal."

"He _is_ an animal!" Dain grounded out, his bearded tusks shaking with his fervor. "Now I'm no sayin' we go kill 'im, but we can't just let 'im go flyin' off, can we? No, we must contain him, get the facts - before he kills someone!" He didn't give Gandalf time to respond before he was calling his guards in. "Call all able-bodied soldiers. We set out at dusk."

Dread filled Gandalf with the call to arms. Lord Dain was a dwarf of action: always acting first and waiting to ask questions after, no matter the consequence. This could only end badly.

\--

Dusk was settling in when Thranduil finally rode off after Bard. It had taken some time to set things in order; he was still a ruler of an entire kingdom and couldn't just go running off into the night on a fools errand without first securing the safety of his people. He had called for Galion and the elf had grudgingly accepted the position of power in his King's absence.

His orders were to continue with Thranduil's original plan of assisting the men with rebuilding, but to remain on guard and wary of a riot at any moment. Thranduil had also sent for Bard's children. He would never forgive himself if any harm befell the innocent children, not to mention Bard after he had all but intrusted their safety into his care. The three were now safely tucked away deep in the Elven encampment, far from the brash Men of Dale.

The Elvenking had called for the fastest elk in their resources and was off into the twilight without even a glance back. Elks were the choice steed of the Wood Elves as the forest floor was tough terrain for walking, let alone traversing a horse across and around the tree roots that intertwined in a maddening maze. No, the only sensible option for making any speed through the forest would be on the back of a Greenwood native equipped with the means of navigating the forest floor with the grace of an elf. The Elvenking was proud of many things, but his choice of noble steed was amongst the highest.

It was as he settled into a steady rhythm with his elk that Thranduil began to slip into deep thought. Worry over the Dragonslayer and what he might do seized the elf. Once a plan hatched itself into Bard's mind, there was no stopping the man. He was a stubborn, diligent man - something Thranduil admired greatly - but he could not be trusted to think the plan through first before acting. As someone who thought out every minute detail before continuing with a cautious hand, it did nothing to ease his concern for the Bowman.

If only Bard had waited a moment for Thranduil to talk him down from leaving in fear, this whole mess could have been avoided and they would be seeing to just what punishment the rebellious mob deserved. Thranduil would prefer they all be beaten for their insolence and banished from the realm for daring to not only set the Elvenking's tent aflame, but for trying to kill their own King; Bard, if he was himself, would have let them off with a harsh warning and let it go. Instead, Thranduil was rushing off into the night to track down his- what? Friend? Lover?

That would definitely be discussed once he finds Bard, if he doesn't kill him first for running away from his problems and not staying with him. Then again, it would be quite hypocritical of Thranduil to be angry with Bard for hiding. After all, Thranduil had done just the same for almost an entire Age. He had withdrawn into the confines of his kingdom like a coward. He would not allow Bard to make the same mistake. To be separated from his children, his people, all because he thought himself a monster? He could not let Bard throw it all away. The man, now vampire, must realize how much he means to others, what he's grown to mean to the elf. Whatever it took, Thranduil would not return to Dale without its rightful King at his side.

\--

When Thranduil finally tracked Bard down deep in the mouth of a cave on the side of the Lonely Mountain facing the forest, it was just hours before dawn. He had followed the cluster of bats circling about the side of the mountain into the cave where he sensed a presence of great power that could only be Bard. It had occurred to the Elvenking during his ascent that it would soon be the third day's sunrise and the command of the night bestowed upon the former Bargeman would be gone if he was successful in resisting the temptation of blood he so thirsted for.

Though Elven eyes were keen, Thranduil lacked most sight in his left eye. His drawn sword cast a silver glow throughout the pitch black cavern as he descended further into it and took comfort in its familiar gleam. The bats screeching above were a nuisance on his senses as he was focusing on the sound in front of him for any sign of Bard and behind him for any sign of danger. Creatures other than dragons and vampires had plagued this part of Middle Earth for quite some time. With Smaug's vacancy, one could be sure in knowing that other creatures had returned to the mountain and there was no way in telling where, what kind or how many, just that they were there, lurking in the shadows waiting for their moment to strike. However, with Bard's presence, they might just be staying clear of this particular cave.

Bard must have noticed Thranduil before the latter had for he called out in frustration, "I thought I said to leave me be."

The Elvenking's lips pursed as he rounded a corner to find the Bowman perched on a large rock in an open room of the cave, moonlight shining in from a crack in the ceiling, the glow from behind casting him in shadow. He sheathed his sword. "To be fair, you never specified being alone, only that you had to leave."

"I figured it would be implied," Bard's voice was clipped, but warmth seeped in around the edges. The Dragonslayer couldn't stay mad for long.

"Implication is subjective," the words slipped through curled lips with a hint of steel. The anger that had been residing deep within was starting to creep up and Thranduil was not going to hold it back now. "You are a _fool_ , Dragonslayer." Hanging his head in shame, Bard sighed in agreement. "Leaving your kingdom so soon after battle leaderless, running away from your responsibilities as the King your people had elected, deserting your children when they needed you most - and for what? A dozen of Men who gathered in a pathetic attempt of a mutiny? Or are you so willing to let them take your right to the crown away because they are afraid of the unknown? They are ungrateful of all that you have done - all that you have sacrificed - and are unworthy of your leadership."

Thranduil had glided into the room at some point of his rant, now coming to stop in the middle of the room, his grey eyes boring holes into the top of Bard's head as the man couldn't raise to meet his gaze.

"That is, if you are even willing to take the mantle again. If you do not return tomorrow and reclaim your title, you will never be allowed to show your face again in Dale. They will shun you and laugh you out before you could even get a word out."

Bard's head snapped up at that. "Okay, say I do return tomorrow," he jumped off the rock without even a sound, moving as silent as an elf would, to Thranduil's surprise. "Who is to say they wouldn't attack me in a mob the moment I step out on the streets? They think me a monster. There is no convincing them otherwise after the marvelous display I put on earlier. No doubt word has spread."

"Which is why you must return tomorrow in broad daylight so that they can come to realize you are no longer inflicted with the darkness. Dispel the rumors now so that your kingdom can continue on its path of reconstruction and put this awful event to bed."

Raking a hand through his wild, grey-streaked hair, Bard grumbled. "We'll see about that."

Before Thranduil could even smirk in victory, a voice echoed through the cave that instantly washed any good feeling away, replacing it instead with absolute revulsion.

"Eh, we know yer in there ye sprite. You and yer pet bat. Why don' ya come on down so we can have us a lil' ole chat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Yay? Nay? :x


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil face on some unwelcome visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! Dialogue was a bit difficult in this one for me.

Rain had begun to fall by the time Bard and Thranduil reached the mouth of the cave. A bit of ways down, Gandalf the Grey sat a horse, his pointy hat keeping the rain out of his eyes and they met Bard's with a clear warning in them. Just ahead of him was Lord Dain atop a battle ram, his beard sopping wet with no brim of a hat to keep it dry. His beady eyes glinted in the black of night with a sense of righteousness. Behind the two was a sizable force of Dwarves blocking the winding path down.

Thranduil cursed under his breath in Sindarin next to him. Reaching out, Bard took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly before shouting down to the Dwarven King, "And how may we help you on this fine evening? Or should I say morning?" Any moment, the light of dawn would start peeking over the sprawling hills behind the mountain, spelling the end of his time as a creature of the night.

A chuckle found its way up the few yards between them, the beads in Lord Dain's bear glinting as he shook his head. "S'not so fine, if you ask me. The rain makes for a slippery slope to climb."

"Perhaps if you had stayed in your caverns, you'd sleeping still, wrapped up in your furs instead of out in this dank night," Bard replied with just a hint of snark. 

Beside him, Thranduil's mouth twisted into a proud smirk that then turned into a sneer as he called down, "It is not surprising to see Mithrandir amongst your ranks, Lord Dain. Wizards have a way of meddling in affairs that are of no concern to them."

"It was against my advisement that we are here this hour," Gandalf interjected, a wariness prominent in his words.

"And yet here you sit," Bard noted, his eyes turning back to the King Under the Mountain.

"Tell me, Lord Dain," the Elvenking spoke with resentment, "are you here because of rumors with no evidence reached your ears and you felt the call to action, or is this an attempt to take the two other Lords of the land that threaten your mountain of treasure while they are defenseless?"

"Not entirely defenseless," Dain quipped back, his eyes narrowing on Bard's form. "Why else would the two of ya be all the way out here by your lonesome? Unless ya were eloping?" That gained a chorus of laughter from several of the dwarves below. Bard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Besides," the dwarf went on, "Gandalf here, along with a whole lot of my soldiers, saw Bard here on the battlefield yesterday. He ain't no man, that's fur sure."

"And what if I wasn't?" Bard demanded, having grown tired of the back and forth already. "What business is it of yours?"

"Business of mine?" The Dwarf king guffawed. "It's all my business, lad. Ya see, we're neighbors now. If I don't know if I can trust ya, how can we cohabit the area in peace?"

"Lord Bard has done absolutely nothing to lose your trust," Thranduil spat.

The ram Dain sat upon snorted. "And he ain't done nothin' to gain it, either."

"What would you have me do, Lord Dain?" Bard asked with a strong amount of sarcasm.

"I'd have ye follow me back to Erebor so that we may discuss these rumors and what we saw yesterday, determine if yer a threat to the peace of this land or if it's all just a big ole misunderstanding."

Thranduil seemed to any who looked at him calm as day, but Bard could see how much he was covering his anger. His eyes were steel as he seethed, "The King of Dale does not answer to a dwarf barely able to sit on a mule and his encumbersome Wizard friend."

The wizard in question pulled back at this, his horse taking a step and neighing in annoyance at having been bothered. "As I have said, Lord Thranduil, I have nothing to do with this. But if Lord Bard is as innocent as you're suggesting, then there is nothing to worry about. Just come with us to Erebor and we'll get this all sorted."

The Elvenking was about to spew out another suggestion of where they could just put that offer when Bard grabbed his hand with a tight grip. "Perhaps we should just go," Bard conceded in a murmur. "It is almost sunrise, they'll see before we even arrive at Erebor that the rumors are just that. Or that something has changed, at least."

"Are you sure? Once you give in, the beast will think you easy to persuade and will walk all over you in future negotiations."

"I'm sure." Thranduil nodded in support and Bard turned back to the dwarves and wizard below. "Alright," he called, thinking it couldn't get much worse than this.

But of course, Bard had thought too soon. He sensed them a moment before a roar ripped through the night air like thunder above them. Though Bard's heightened eyesight spotted them the moment he looked up, lightning silhouetted a score of rogue Orcs that must have survived the battle and had taken refuge in the mountain. Thranduil instantly drew both of his swords.

Below, Lord Dain growled, "Repugnant, tool-snatching Orcs," before he called his soldiers to arm themselves. "It seems this battle ain't over yet, lads. Time to raise yer battle axes once more and finish 'em for good this time!" A "hoo-ya" met his cry.

Bard called his bats to him. He could feel the coming dawn deep in his bones and knew his powers would soon fade. Even now, light began filtering over the horizon, signaling the approaching day at its back. They did not have much time.

With a cry in their dark tongue, the leader of the Orc pack led his kind down to meet them. Bard dissolved into a flurry of bats to infiltrate their lines as they descended, determined to rid as many as he could before they reached Thranduil, before he was powerless to stop them. He took his anger of not sensing them approaching out on the savage beasts themselves, channeling his frustration with himself at being distracted by the infuriating Lord Dain into his claws as he slashed through the Orcs with a murderous intent.

The sound of steel clashing from below marked Thranduil's entry into the skirmish with the Orcs and dwarves. Bard crested the top of the mountain and rounded to make another go at the creatures. He spotted the wizard's lighted staff whacking Orcs in one hand while his other wielded his blade with purpose; Lord Dain's running commentary reached his ears despite the cacophony of battle and the pouring rain. Fighting on the slope of the mountain was difficult for all parties who couldn't find proper footing on the slippery rocks. The Elvenking, however, was gliding from one boulder to another with the ease of a dancer, his swords arcing above him with acute precision as they sliced through the enemy. Confident in Thranduil's ability to protect himself, Bard turned back to his own attack.

Bats swirled in a frenzy above, waiting on Bard's order to attack. With a silent command, they came crashing down in a wave across a large part of the host's rear. They ripped and tore and bit their way through the numbers. The Dragonslayer's claws tore through exposed necks, his speed of destruction goaded by the ever rapidly lightening sky. He couldn't lose his powers now, not when it mattered so much.

A desperate grunt caught his attention and Bard stopped his raid of carnage to look below. Thranduil was teetering on the end of a ledge that jutted out of the mountain - the drop was a mile to the ground, nothing else there to break a fall - as an Orc battered at him with a crude looking scythe that he could only parry off, unable to hit back as his focus was trained on remaining what little balance he had. Bard cried out in anguish as a rather hard blow struck true right in Thranduil's side.

The Elvenking looked up and met Bard's eyes as he fell back, disappearing below the cliff face.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard realizes time is no one's friend.

Time is a fickle thing. There are moments when one wants nothing more than for the hour to pass, or for a day set in the future to arrive already, the time in-between inconsequential. Then there are other moments, when one realizes that time has passed by too quickly. Bard remembered looking up one day and seeing Sigrid making dinner while Bain fiddled with a locking mechanism for the door and Tilda wiped down the dining table. He had fallen into such a routine of work, sleep, repeat that he hadn't even taken note of the passage of time. The very idea that time could pass without notice was so inconceivable to the man who had once cherished every moment he could, especially when his wife had fallen ill. During those days, all he could do was pray for more time. Instead, life had flown by; or rather, it had just kept on while he idled with his head in the sand.

Even now, time had come to an abrupt halt as the icy stare of the Elvenking met the Dragonslayer's, wide with shock as the Orc yanked its blade free from his side. For that one brief moment, when their eyes found each other in the early morning light through the skirmish happening between them, Bard felt as if he had been right there at his side, as if they had both taken the hit.

Then time came rushing back as those same eyes that had conveyed so much affection just an hour ago, now filled with dread, disappeared below the cliff. The Orc that Bard had in his grasp before he'd stopped to witness Thranduil's downfall was ripped in two as he roared in despair. He took flight instantly, keeping his front half in form so he could reach for the elf. As he went over the cliff, he clipped the Orc who had did this in the shoulder and sent him flying.

Once again, time seemed to slow as he crested the edge. The Bowman pushed himself faster with the sight of Thranduil falling at rapid pace, his arms outstretched and his mouth open in a silent scream. He extended his clawed hands out towards him, growling in frustration when the distance between them seemed to grow instead of diminishing. He could see the Elvenking take a gasping breath as he realized the Bargeman wouldn't reach him in time. His grey eyes pooled with unshed tears as the ground rushed up to meet him. The sun rose mockingly in the east, ever a reminder of how little time Bard had left, his power draining away.

As it always has a way of doing, time caught up to them with jarring reality. Bard had just enough time to get his hand wrapped around Thranduil's head before they collided with the ground. Despite taking as much of the impact as he could have, Bard knew Thranduil's condition was critical as he cradled the elf's limp body in his lap, stroking back locks of silver hair with trembling fingers. A stream of the word 'no' stumbled from his lips while Thranduil gazed up at him in wonderment, obviously in shock after the fall. Blood was soaking into Bard's cloak from the wound in the Elvenking's side, even more trickled from his ears and a crude cough left some at the corner of the very lips that were more oft than not twisted up in a smirk, but now were slack. The world around them faded away, the battle forgotten as it waged on a mile above them.

" _Meleth nîn_ ," Thranduil whispered, a shaky hand reaching up to weakly curl into his hair. "There's still time."

Time? Confusion muddled itself with the resounding anguish that filled the Bowman to his core. There was never enough time. Surely the elf realized that? Even as an immortal being, Thranduil knew better than any the curse of living with the promise of forever. Their birthright was eternity, but it could be taken away at any given moment. Bard now understood all too well how capricious life was as he held the broken elf in his arms.

"The sun is not yet fully risen," his words were choked with the blood filling his lungs. Bard could smell the chambers in his chest drowning with it. "You can still become the eternal creature of the night; use your powers to end the pervasive evil of the realm. Finish this battle, Bard. Do not let them reach Gundabad."

"I will not drink from you," Bard replied harshly, immediately dismissing the notion.

Thranduil's eyes squeezed shut as his body spasmed with pain, his hand clenching in Bard's hair. The Bargeman felt utterly inadequate in that moment, unable to help the Elvenking. After an agonizingly long moment, Thranduil took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering open to reveal glazed grey orbs staring up at him. "I was not wholly honest with you the other night in my tent before the battle. There is a great power from long ago rising once more. Middle Earth will need you for the coming war."

Understanding sunk in finally as Bard recalled that night, how Thranduil had admitted to knowing of the Orcs amassing their forces before Gandalf had warned them of the threat. If he had it in him, Bard would have chuckled at the very same King who had recently called the wizard a meddling fool for doing the very same. "You planned for this to happen."

"To be fair," a ghost of his notorious smirk graced his lips, "I never planned on falling from the side of a mountain, yet here we are." For Thranduil to find his current condition humorous was so tragically beautiful, Bard couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped him, his tears falling freely now. "No, it was never my intention to make you a vampire, but it was a lingering fancy whenever it was discussed."

"Well, I hate to deny your fancy," Bard began, but the fingers curled in his hair tightened, pulling him down to be met by Thranduil's lips.

"Drink and be what you were always meant to be," Thranduil murmured against his lips, tilting his head back to expose his neck.

"No, I can't," he cried, shaking his head vehemently.

"Do it, _meleth nîn_ , do it now, while there is still time," the Elvenking commanded.

A growl echoed in the small clearing they had ended up in as Thranduil pulled his face to his neck and Bard's fangs lengthened, his eyes glowing red, his nails sharpening into claws. It was as the sun rose high in the sky that the Dragonslayer sunk his fangs into the pale skin of the elf, and drank until the hand in his hair fell limp to the ground.

When he finally pulled away, he fell back in horror at the body of his beloved before him, laying lifeless, his eyes closed, appearing to the world to be asleep.

Above them, where the battle still raged on, everything came to a standstill as if time had come to a stop. The howl of a creature in so much pain that it had to be dying of a broken heart echoed for what seemed like forever. Gandalf sensed a darkness unleashed upon the realm as a creature of old was freed. A great foreboding filled the wizard as the howling stopped and the sky went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry. n̶o̶ ̶i̶'̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶  
> Forgive me?????????? heh  
> also, would anyone like a playlist for this fic? my barduil playlist on spotify is bursting at the seams.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard deals with the Orc scum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh 2 updates in a week? say what?

One small blessing of the curse was that Bard was able to completely drown out his sorrows with the overwhelming sense of anger and vengeance that swelled inside. The sky that had just begun to brighten with the promise of day soon blackened with the vampire's soul. Bats, even more than before, were summoned to him and they swarmed around him in a fury of pitch black. With eyes glowing an unnatural shade of red, Bard looked once more upon the fallen elf and shuddered as the remnants of his heart finally shattered.

Turned away, the Dragonslayer began his ascent up the mountain. To any looking down upon him, he was swathed in a cloak so dark he appeared devoid of any light, nothing reflected off his form. Bard swooped back to the battle in a matter of moments and quickly dispatched of any Orc standing too near to where he stopped to hover above. He then came crashing down with a hand of righteous fury, the bats in his charge tearing the Orcs and Wargs limb from limb, ripping out throats to silence screams before they could even begin, and plucking eyes from their sockets. Bard himself moved through the numbers at a dizzying speed for anyone trying to keep track of his movements, as Lord Dain and Gandalf were trying to do as they stood rooted to the spot to witness the vampire's absolute carnage.

When the last Orc atop a Warg was left quivering in fear while held in Bard's grasp, his other clawed hand inches away from shredding his face to pieces, the Bowman suddenly stopped. "You are to return to whatever master awaits you back in Gundabad. Let him know of the beast that now protects these lands, of the ease in which I eliminated your numbers. If I catch one of your ilk in these parts again, I will come down on Gundabad and lay it waste. Am I to be understood?" When the Orc just blinked back in shock, Bard held him tighter, bringing their faces nose-to-nose, his glowing eyes piercing. "Am I to be understood?" He growled low, threateningly.

"Yes, Your Grace," he blubbered out.

"Now, begone filth," Bard spat as he threw him back down on his Warg. They were off before he was even fully sat. Bard watched them until they rounded a bend in the mountain before turning back to where Gandalf and Lord Dain had approached cautiously behind him, a handful of guards flanking their king. They had every right to be fearful of him, and they should be. He felt himself relax minutely; eyes faded back to their natural dark brown, nails shortened to a proper length, and fangs retracted. While the monster inside of Bard was momently hidden away, it was itching just below the surface of the man's skin. Any sudden burst of tension and it would be freed.

Balling his hands up into clenched fists, he lifted his chin in greeting to the dwarf and wizard, not bothering with formality or pleasantries - they were well past that point. The taller of the two nodded back with wary eyes, noticeably silent as he was always one to have a response ready, even if it were only to buy him more time to ponder over a more suitable reply.

The Dwarvenking, however, had no such qualms of speaking the first thought to come to him. "Bloody 'ell, remind me never to piss you off." He paused then, glancing towards the cliff the Elvenking had fallen from. "Where's the sprite at, eh? He didn't make it back up 'ere wit ya?"

The place where Bard's heart once beat felt suddenly hollowed, as if the reminder of Thranduil was trying to scoop out whatever remained in his chest and only found nothing, so it took that instead and left him with a hole where a heart should have been. Unable to find words, he gave a short shake of his head.

"I feared as much," Gandalf murmured, looking greatly worrisome. "Come, we have much to discuss, but let us not do it here where death chokes the very air we breathe. There is a kingdom that must learn of their King's death." The old wizard cast his eyes skyward, letting out a deep sigh. "Death. There has been so much death this week. The halls of the afterlife have welcomed too many dear friends for my liking in such a short amount of time."

Bard could only swallow down the imaginary lump in his throat, his eyes staring intently at the blood-soaked rock he stood upon. "I will return Lord Thranduil to his people, say goodbye to my children, and then you shall never hear from me again."

The wise blue eyes belonging to Gandalf widened as he startled at the declaration. "You cannot leave now, Lord Bard. We must learn of the origins of your powers, the effects this will have on the rest of Middle Earth, the-"

"In all due respect, Gandalf," Bard cut in with a slight growl. Noting the wizard's silence, he continued on in a more proper tone. "I am a monster and should not be treated as a specimen for you to poke at. I realize the danger I impose, therefore I cannot remain here where I could hurt anyone else that I love. I only ask you give me the time to do as I have said, and then I will take me leave. You may hunt me down afterwards. If you ever come across me, you have my expressed permission to end my life if I don't beat you to it. Now, if you don't mind, I will go now. I have things to attend to, as you now know."

He looked at the two hard, daring either to try and stop him. Lord Dain's eyes narrowed in disdain, but he nodded slowly. "Aye, begone wit ya then. Just know I will take you on yer word if I ever do find ya near my Kingdom."

"Understood," Bard agreed, then turned his gaze to Gandalf.

"I cannot stop you. Go, but know you will find no solace nor any answers on your own. I will be around whenever you are willing to seek help," the set of his brows were grim as they drew together.

Nodding, Bard took the offer as it was aside to consider later when he was away and could have the time to think. He dissolved into a flurry of bats, taking off for the ravine at the base of the mountain, leaving an angry dwarf and pensive wizard behind to clean up the mess of the battle.

\--

Bard materialized a few feet away from the Elvenking's body, taking a moment to admire how ethereal the elf looked even in death. His silver hair shone like starlight as it fanned out around him in the faux-night the vampire had created. The red cloak he wore over silver garments masked the blood loss his wound had caused before Bard had taken what was left. The marble skin was unmarked but for the small amount of blood that had dried coming from his orifices.

The cavity in Bard's chest did not stir with any feeling at seeing the corpse of his beloved. This was concerning for the man, but did not dwell on it. He had little time to complete his tasks before Lord Dain would be after him. He approached Thranduil with the cool detachment he was learning to grow used to for the time being, until he could fully process all that had happened and what he had become. Collecting the elf in his arms, he stroked away stray hairs and gazed down at the closed eyelids that hid the blue steel orbs that could see right through you. It was so ironic that when they started their affair, it should have been the reversed: Bard gone after a short amount of time and Thranduil left to an eternity without him, though he would have been granted a few more years with Bard before old age took him, if it had happened as it should have. Instead, Bard had been gifted forever at the price of his supposed immortal love. The fates were ever so cruel.

The vampire was just about to take off when he picked up on something that nearly startled him enough to drop Thranduil. So faint that only his heightened senses could barely make it out, a heart beat weakly within the Elvenking's chest. Pressing his ear to the tunic adorning his torso, Bard could hear it struggle to pump what little blood it had through his system. Hope blossomed in the hole where his own heart had once beat. He took off for the Elven camp with haste urging his wings faster, faster, faster.

There was still time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe :) 
> 
> Just wanna stop and thank everyone for still reading this! I love reading your comments and reactions! They really inspire me to write more often. They get my creative juices flowing, for sure. Hope you guys enjoyed this one!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bard races against time back to the Elven camp, Galion deals with the worries of the King's children and preparing for their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a small reprieve from angst with some MTS :)

"M'lady, I'm afraid that staring so intently to the north will not make your father magically appear. You're better suited to distract your mind elsewhere," Galion suggested after coming across the Lady Sigrid still standing outside the tent Lord Thranduil had placed her and her siblings in before his departure. She had remained at her post since the Elvenking had left, only taking time away to relieve herself or check on her siblings who had slept for most the night and were now being entertained by Feren. The butler could hear the girl's shrill giggles and an enthralled guffaw from the boy within. Surely Feren was keeping them gleefully occupied. The elf had all but jumped at the chance to neglect his duties to watch over the little ones. It had been a long time since he had last been charged with the well being of a child. In fact, it had been a long time since any elf of the forest had seen a child as their immortal race did not have the urgency to breed like the others of Middle Earth.

Galion had been happy to oblige his king's command, but had grown worrisome when he had not returned with the morning light. The Dalish King's eldest had a right to be concerned for no matter of talk should have kept the pair of kings for so long, but it wasn't her job to worry so. She was still so young, however, and the troubles of life too great to keep her thoughts every-waking moment. The elf studied her hard set mouth, the resilience in her blue eyes, and realized perhaps she wasn't so young in the world of Men. The Lady Sigrid stood with the regal sense of a ruler, the set of her shoulders demanded respect, but the disquiet in lines of a brow and the way her fingers curled restlessly around each other alluded to that of a worried parent. There was not much Galion could say to assuage her anixety any, so he dismissed himself with a small bow and entered the tent.

The laughter suddenly came to an abrupt halt upon the butler's arrival. With a quick sweep of the room, Galion was able to determine that Feren had been distracting the children by acting out stories of old, costumes and special voices included, as they broke their fast. After a moment of awkward eye contact with an elk-disguised Feren, the children erupted into a fit of even more giggles. Though Lord Bain tried to rein his enjoyment in to appear older and more respectable, he failed at keeping any composure he had worked up when a branch the elf had been using as a horn fell off his makeshift crown. Lady Tilda couldn't contain her delight and fell over on a pile of pillows, tears sneaking out the corners of her eyes and her hands clutching at her middle.

"Well, I had just stopped to make sure you hadn't gotten the children mixed up with your antics, Feren. Clearly I had cause for concern and am too late to save their young minds from corruption."

The guard held up a hand to retort, but was grabbed by a righteously protective Tilda. "Nonsense," the girl said with absolute authority. "Feren has been a fantastic host. He should get a medal."

Galion couldn't repress the smile the little girl had caused to bloom across his face. She would be a force to be reckoned with when she was older. "Of course, m'lady. I will personally look into the matter." Feren met his gaze with wide eyes, taking the promise as a promise to tell the rest of the guard of his actions so that he'd never be able to live down the elk noises he had been making, or the elk-horn crown he had fashioned for the sake of storytelling. Feren was very dedicated to his craft. The butler doubted anyone would begrudge him seriously for playing with the children. They'll likely be more jealous than to make fun of elf for his tactics. 

Such it was the way of Eredhon, the elf came bursting through the tent flaps. "My Lord and Lady," he greeted the children first, bowing quickly to the amused children before turning to Galion. "You must come with me. A dark shadow approaches from the North. A darker shape flies under it. Calen was watching the skies and believes she saw a flash of silver amongst the black."

"King Thranduil," Feren murmured, looking to Galion. The butler nodded his agreement and moved to follow Eredhon out, but was stopped by a tug on his robes.

"Is it Da?" Lady Tilda asked with her big blue eyes staring up at the elf with the innocence of her age and race shining bright within.

Galion smiled gently and patted the top of her head. Eredhon had a funny look on his face, but Galion ignored him to focus on the little girl. "Perhaps, _henig_. I shall go see for myself and will send for you when we know for certain."

The girl nodded with a determination set in her jaw, squeezing his legs briefly before running back to sit beside her brother.

"Feren," Galion looked to the guard, " _tirith ti a ála gwanna an i tultad._ " 

The guarded nodded in acceptance of his duty. Galion turned back to the tent opening and met the peculiar look still on Eredhon's face. The butler arched a brow at the guard and motioned for the other elf to lead the way. The shorter of the two gave a short shake of his head to clear his mind, and his expression, before heading out with Galion right on his heels.

"So," Eredhon began as they trekked to the outskirts of camp.

"Now is hardly the time," Galion interrupted in exasperation. 

The other elf looked down at his feet in mild embarrassment. "No, you're completely right. Not the time at all. How foolish of me to think now was an appropriate time. What, with the King gone, a battle barely won, no telling when we'll return home, now is most definitely not the time. It's just, with having the threat of death during the battle, it really puts things into perspective, and-"

"Eredhon," Galion interrupted again, hiding an amused smile with a quick turn of his head and his auburn hair falling to cover half his face from the flustered elf. Eredhon was adorable when he got like this. It was rare for the over-confident elf, but whenever he was around the older of the two, he couldn't seem to control his words. "While it is most certainly inappropriate to be making advances in the midst of unstable political dealings, when we do return to the realm, the topic may be reopened for further discussion."

The guard's face practically lit up with hope at the admission. "Of course, right. Well," Eredhon looked ahead and slowed his brisk pace. "I shall turn you over to Calen now." Their hazel-blue eyes met and Eredhon excused himself with a small bow and left Galion to question the new Captain of the Guard after Tauriel's exile. She arched a perfectly pointed brow at him as he joined her at the perimeter, but made no comment, knowing very well there were more pressing matters at hand and that Galion had no patience for gossip, especially concerning himself.

In Tauriel's absence, Calen had stepped up to the role as Captain with a heavy burden to do right by their king and to live up to her predecessor sans the rebelliousness. The younger elf was masterly skilled, level-headed and fond of music during her time off. She took longer than most of the others in her squad to shake the guard persona when off-duty, but once she let go, she could hold her own even against Feren in drinking games - though none matched the prowess of Galion with a goblet in hand; he had a good couple centuries on the eldest in the squad.

The captain inclined her head for Galion to follow her and they exited the camp, gliding past the last of the tents and out into the open field of the Desolation. The sky was rapidly darkening and casting his gaze North, Galion was able to determine it was being emitted from the black mass heading towards them.

"Da," an excited Lady Sigrid gasped from behind the two elves.

Galion looked over his shoulder at the young lady with an inquisitive brow. "Ah, Lady Sigrid, it was you the pitter-patter of feet belonged to."

The Dalish King's daughter had the decency to look mildly abashed at having been caught sneaking about, but the sight of what was surely her father gave her the courage to step out in the open next to the elves.

"Perhaps I should escort the Lady back to her tent," Calen suggested with a curt nod to the princess.

"That won't be necessary, Calen," Galion responded as the approaching splotch of ink against the crystal blue of the sky filled him with foreboding. "We may be in need of her services shortly. Call a guard for the perimeter, prepare a medical tent and have the healers on standby. We must be ready for whatever dark news follows this black cloud."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henig - my child  
> tirith ti a ála gwanna an i tultad - watch over them and do not leave until I send for you.
> 
> special thanks to magic-ramen for looking over most of this chapter, approving of my take on the MTS elves and really inspiring me just in general. 
> 
> new chapter to follow shortly, as well! the delay came about because I couldn't decide where I wanted to split the chapters haha. 
> 
> next up: Bard faces reality.


	18. Chapter 18

Bard touched down just outside the line of elves guarding the camp. The tall steward to Thranduil stood between them with a cautious gaze that turned to worry upon seeing his King being held limply in Bard's arms.

"Please," Bard begged, shifting his arms to show the elf's face better for all to see - a face that was now covered in burn scars along the left side that had appeared during the trek back to the camp. The Dragonslayer had no knowledge of how they came about, or why it happened then that they appeared, but knew there would be time later to answer his questions and that Thranduil did not have that time now. "There's not much time." There's never enough time. Galion gestured and an elf took off into the camp, another two came forward to take their fallen King, but Bard clutched him tighter to his chest. "Just lead the way." The butler nodded and began a brisk walk to where Bard was sure there would be healers waiting. He caught a glimpse of familiar yellow hair as they swept past the first of the tents, but he didn't stop to instigate their person.

"What are the extent of King Thranduil's injuries?" Galion asked as they came to a large weathered tent. Bard finally let go of Thranduil so the healers could take care of their King.

Seeking refuge in a corner of the makeshift medic room so to remain as much out of the way as possible while still keeping the elf in sight. "Countless broken bones from a long fall." He paused, unsure how to explain what had transpired after he fell. The truth of it still clawed at him inside. If he were to tell the whole story now, they would kill him where he stood, or worse, banish him from ever returning. "He... sustained heavy blood loss, as well," the former Bargeman finally settled on. Galion didn't respond, only looked grimly on as the healers worked tirelessly over the failing Elvenking.

They watched quietly as the elves skilled in the art of healing stripped the Elvenking to suspect the full-damage done to his body. Several other elves worked over a table alongside one edge of the tent mixing powders, liquids and various other ingredients that would be used in the aid of saving Thranduil. Another elf with the same auburn hair as most of the elves of the Woodland Realm stood at Thranduil's head, eyes closed with her hands on either side of the King's temples as she chanted some Elven magic Bard was unfamiliar with.

It was after they were shuffled out, much to Bard's dismay but full understanding, that Galion finally asked what Bard was afraid to answer. "How came my King by these injuries?"

Sighing heavily, Bard rubbed at his forehead. "Do you mind if we find a place to talk inside somewhere?" The concentration of keeping the forecast sky ever present while he was exposed was a tedious task on top of the mountain of thoughts and worry circulating in his mind.

Before Galion could respond, an exclaimed "Da!" grabbed his attention moments before he spun to catch his eldest in his arms. "Oh darling," he murmured, holding her close to him and kissing the top of her blonde curls as her arms squeezed tight around him.

"You never came back," Sigrid choked around fresh tears.

"I know, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." The statement had hit him like a punch in the gut, so the apology came out in a gasp. "Believe me when I say I wanted to come running back every second I was away."

"Then why didn't you?" Sigrid questioned, pulling back to look him hard in the eye even with tears running steadily down her cheeks, reminding him so much of her mother in that moment that he almost started crying with her.

He wanted to speak the truth, say there was no reason good enough to keep him from his children, but instead, he said: "I was just trying to protect you." The words sounded so empty as they left his lips. The look on Sigrid's face was enough to tell him she thought it was complete rubbish. He knew she wouldn't accept it as anything more than the poor excuse it was.

If he had spoken the truth of it, he would never be able to follow through with the deal he had made Lord Dain and Gandalf. It would have made it impossible to leave his children on their own. Bard wanted nothing more than to return home with his children, return to his meager job as a bargeman, making barely enough to keep the roof over their heads and to put food on the table, before there were dragons and Elvenkings and Orcs. That was all over now. The dragon came and destroyed Lake-town, Bard had slain Smaug the Terrible and had been made an unofficial King, led the survivors of Lake-town to Dale, became a monster to fight the oncoming doom of the Orc army and had fallen in love with an Elvenking before he, too, was taken from him. Nothing would ever be the same again. He could not be the father his children needed now that he had become a creature of the night. There was no real future he could provide for them that wouldn't spell their end. No, they had better luck elsewhere, under someone else's care.

Bard's concentration slipped as the guilt of his decision began to overcome him and a stream of sunlight broke through the overcast skies above. Hissing as it seared his flesh, the vampire drew his arm to cover his face and looked skyward to draw the clouds closer together. 

"Da!" Sigrid gasped, reaching for him.

Once again under the cloak of darkness, Bard dropped his arm back to his side, standing straighter. Galion was studying him with narrowed eyes before saying, "Come quickly," and taking off at a brisk pace. Bard grabbed for Sigrid's hand and followed after the elf who led them to a nondescript tent fifteen paces from where Thranduil was being treated. It was bare but for a chair and table, a small trunk sat along one side, open to reveal the golden glimmer of a Woodland Elf's armor. The former Bargeman figured it was Galion's temporary quarters until their eventual return to Mirkwood.

"I regret the interruption, but I must know what happened to my King. The full story," Galion added, hands clasped behind his back and face set in an expressionless way Bard was finding ever so common among the Elven race, though he could detect the smallest trace of worry in the hardened glare of his eyes.

"Sigrid, perhaps it best if-"

"No, Da," she cut him off with a firm shake of her head. Sigrid crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to know what happened to King Thranduil," she demanded, looking at him expectantly.

With a heavy sigh, Bard nodded knowing she had ever right to be upset with him. "After the mob had come after me, I realized what a threat I was to those around me. I took off for the mountain, initially to wait out the night until the deal I had made with the creature expired with the rising sun and I would return the man I was before. While there, I had contemplated the future and what the best course of action would be upon my return. It wasn't until after Lord Thranduil had arrived and had convinced me to fight for my right to lead our people, to prove to everyone that I was no monster and would lead them all to prosperity that I agreed to return with the Elvenking. We hadn't even made it out of the cave I'd taken refuge in when Lord Dain made him and his army's presence known; the Grey Wizard rode with them. The Dwarf King wished to see me in chains and brought back to Erebor for questioning. We went round and round til a pack of Orcs riding their Wargs attacked us."

"Survivors of the battle," Galion stated.

Bard nodded, the elf's assessment accurate. "On their way back to Dol Guldur. They descended upon us from above. Lord Thranduil and I became separated as I went after the rear flanks, hoping to keep the battle short as the sun was beginning to rise. We caught sight of each other just as he was struck by a scythe from the Orc he had been dueling along the edge of a cliff. He-" Bard paused as he looked to the floor, unable to meet either pair of eyes staring intently at him. He had noted the tears watering the blue eyes belonging to his daughter. The images of Thranduil falling replayed behind his eyelids and he shuddered at the memory of a silent scream. "He fell. I was only able to get a hand under his head a moment before he struck the ground."

"And the two puncture wounds on his neck?" Galion questioned, his tone harsh compared to his usual calm demeanor Bard was growing accustomed to of all the elves. "Did they appear on their own or by result of the fall? Or did one of your bats go rogue?"

Brown eyes glowed red as the Dragonslayer tracked the steward's hand moving to his hilt. "Galion, I assure you it was not my decision to feed from him."

"Da, what do you mean 'feed'?" Sigrid asked, looking between the two with a wide gaze, already knowing the answer to her question, but not wanting to understand.

"M'lady, perhaps it'd be best for you to return to your brother and sister, now," Galion suggested, not taking his eyes off Bard.

"No, I want to-"

"Sigrid, darling," Bard met her gaze and gave her an encouraging nod. "Go to Tilda and Bain. Send them my love if I'm unable to join you."

"But, Da!" His eldest interjected, tears flowing freely now.

"Sigrid, I said GO!" The last word coming out in a growl.

She held her ground for a solid minute, hands curled in fists at her side, before retreating out of the tent with a broken sob - the sound of it almost shattering any resolve Bard had left to finish his deal. Clenching his own fists, the vampire turned back to the elf now wielding his sword he had drawn during Sigrid's departure. The silver shined brightly, almost blindingly so for Bard. He moved so that his back was to the tent opening for an easy escape should he need it.

"I shall only ask you once more, vampire, how did my King come by the bite wound?" Galion demanded, voice as cold and sharp as the steel in his hand.

Desperate to unload the burden that laid heavy upon his shoulders since first tasting his love, Bard's shoulders fell with a deep sigh. "Thranduil was on the cusp of death and the realization that the battle was not yet won with the sun rising ever so quickly left with, what he considered, no other option but for me to drink from him so that I could take care of the rest of the Orcs. He," Bard paused, his eyes squeezing shut at the memory, at how easily he gave in to Thranduil's suggestion. "He was also very adamant that I was destined to be this creature that I have now become." Here, he raised his eyes to meet Galion's. The elf remained expressionless, his grip on the hilt his only tell that he was furious. "I was weak, the beast within clawed at me, whispering in my head to take what was being so readily offered. I had tried to protest, but Thranduil is Thranduil and he will have his way, especially with how easy I was to sway in that moment. With the beast knowing its time was coming to an end and its salvation being held so closely at hand, it was all I could do to have it end as quickly as it started. The moment I felt Thranduil's life leave his body, I broke away in horror. However, it is now apparent there was still some life in your king, yet." Bard added on the last bit with a small, proud smirk. Thranduil was a stubborn bastard.

This did nothing to assuage Galion's judgement, however. "Is that all you have to say for yourself, vampire? That you were _weak,_ " the last word was spat at him.

"No," the former Bargeman shook his head, wringing his hands on the cloak still draped around him. "I also made a deal with the Grey Wizard and Lord Dain. I was to return Thranduil to his people, say goodbye to my children and ensure their safe future before leaving this land."

Galion seemed to consider this for a moment, though Bard was unable to follow his train of thought until the elf finally moved to sheath his sword. "I will escort you to your children where you may say your farewells, then you shall be escorted to the edge of camp where you will then depart and never step foot on this land again."

"Understood," Bard nodded, swallowing down hard the severe weight 'never' held. He was immortal now, something he hadn't even considered before, and the realization he may never return to visit his children, their graves, their descendants. His subconscious was quick to add in Thranduil's name to the list of what he would miss here.

"Follow me," Galion replied curtly, interrupting Bard's racing mind. He exited the tent with one hand still on the hilt of his sword and the other closed into a tight fist, the corners of his mouth pulled down. The Bowman followed briskly, making sure the sky was still overcast before stepping out fully into the open area.

They walked past five tents straight ahead and two to the left before coming to a stop, Thranduil's healers' tent was just twenty tents directly behind him. Inside, he could hear the hushed whispers of his children, the youngest two pressing Sigrid for news of their father, but Bard could detect the scent of salt, meaning his eldest was still in a state of despair. The hollow place in his chest where his heart once beat ached for his children. He knew it was for the best that they did not have a beast such as he for a father, to never be able to enjoy a bright summer day on the lake together, the struggle of their Da's new diet. It just wasn't a good fit for any child to grow up with. He was a danger to their well-being, though he knew no one would be able to care for them in a way that would be satisfactory to him.

Squaring his shoulder to hide any remaining doubt in his decision, to show the strength his children will need for this, Bard waited for the nod of approval from Galion before entering the tent. He hadn't even stepped fully inside before his legs were being assaulted by his littlest. They all had cried out his name before rushing him, but Tilda had been the first to reach him, already climbing up his side as a girl on a mission to see her Da's face up close to check for any injuries. Normally, his aging body would protest such an effort, but now it was just the lightest of pressures against his skin, as if it was just a bug crawling up him instead of a small child.

As it were, he slapped on his signature smile and picked her up the rest of the way to rest on his hip, "'ello, darling."

"Da, where were you? Sigrid said she'd seen you, but wouldn't tell us where you were! You were gone and you didn't say bye! You always say bye! Why would you leave? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Let me see, let me see!" Her excitement rushed out in a tirade as she poked and prodded at his face.

Bard let her check for owies as she liked, looking down to where Bain stood a foot away, an odd look in his eyes as he peered up at his father. "Bain, what is it?" The former Bargeman dreaded what Bain would say. Would he accuse him of being the monster he was? Or of abandoning them? Both? The way he saw it, he was a monster just for leaving them. Yet here he was, leaving them once more, and this time for good. His whole life was spiraling uncontrollably away from him and Bard could only stand back and let it.

"You're different," was all Bain would say. He seemed to decide for himself that the man standing before him was still his Da no matter what and threw his arms around Bard's waist. The Dragonslayer slung his free arm around his son's shoulders and held him close, kissing Tilda's head and she inspected his ears.

Sigrid stepped up then. "So, what is to happen now, Da?" When she had last seen him, he had been on the other end of a sharp blade.

Meeting the eyes of Feren, the elf he had made acquaintances with the other day, as he re-entered the tent after speaking with Galion outside, Bard gathered Feren was caught up on the details surrounding his reappearance. The elf's eyes were hard and his hand was wound tight around the hilt of his blade at his hip. The Bowman's eyes fell in shame and he sighed, going to sit on a chair and maneuvering Tilda to rest in lap. Bain and Sigrid followed suit, his son choosing the floor to sit and his eldest pulled up a chair where she barely sat on the edge, her hands wringing together with anxiety over the news.

"We have decided it best that I remove myself from this land. I've come to say my goodbyes, and then I will be on my way." The words felt like shards of silver escaping his mouth, his throat constricted with the pain of saying them. His eyes, however, did not betray his hurt. He had to stay strong for his children.

All three erupted after a long pause at the same time, Tilda holding tight to his neck with the fiercest grip a child of her stature could possibly hold while shouting her protests, Bain had jumped up in righteous fury, pacing the floor and stomping his foot with good measure, while Sigrid's tears finally fell free, though they appeared more angry than sad as she yelled her frustrations with her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap.

Bringing his hands up to run through Tilda's hair, Bard made soothing noises in her ear and held her tightly. "Trust that this decision was not made lightly, my darlings."

"But you agreed to this?" Sigrid's voice came out in a harsh whisper.

"Yes because it was for the best," Bard reiterated.

"What's for the best is raising your children, being here for us as we grow up, to be present in our lives," Sigrid argued.

It was the force of Sigrid's anger that brought Bard to the realization that perhaps it was good for them to resent him for leaving. It would make coping with his absence easier for them, maybe even prevent them from following after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is honestly no excuse for my absence. Between depression, breaking my laptop, breaking my backup laptop, school, debt, work, etc. I just let this go. I had to for my mental well-being tbh. 
> 
> This chapter has been rewritten multiple times, as I lost 3 different drafts to my laptops dying. I had this one saved to ao3 for a year now. Got a new laptop today and the first thing I do? Go and publish it.
> 
> My deepest apologies to anyone who followed this fic, still follows, has checked for updates, has commented and asked where the hell I've been. I've been too scared to reply to comments bc I wasn't sure when I could promise an update.
> 
> Even now I'm not promising quick updates, but I am promising an end to this fic. I will finish this if it's the last thing I do.
> 
> Love you all so much and hope you stick through this with me <3


End file.
